Behind the Trapdoors
by ThePenWieldingRose
Summary: Erik has his sights set on Christine and has several plans in motion to get his way in the Opera Garnier when a stranger is found by Madame Giry and hired as a cleaning girl and seamstress. Suddenly, everything has gone askew, and it's all because she dared to follow him through the darkness and into his world behind the trapdoors... Erik/OC. COMPLETE
1. In She Came

**A/N: **I don't own "Phantom of the Opera" or "Au claire de la lune", just the OC. Enjoy!

* * *

**Phantom of the Opera – Behind the Trapdoors…**

**Chapter One - In She Came**

The snow drifted to the ground, coating everything in its path. The stars winked gently upon the snow-coated streets of Paris below, their glow mystic and gentle compared to the brash lamplight of the walkways. People scurried to their homes, eager to get out of the cold and bleakness of the night. They avoided the lone, tattered figure that made her way towards the alley by the grand opera house.

Clutching at her threadbare cloak with frozen fingers, the girl took a moment to gaze up at the building's beauty. A smile worked its way onto her chapped, blue lips, as memories of a happier time danced in her mind. Adjusting her wicker basket onto the crook of her elbow, she stepped into the darkened pathway by the _Palais Garnier_, her tired grey eyes searching for a resting place.

"_There."_ There was a set of crates that were to be taken away, creating a barrier from the rest of the alley and the door that provided a way into the opera house through the backstage and worn corridors. Her breath came out a slow puff of smoke, her body engulfed in the chill the air readily offered. Setting herself down onto the slush coated floor, she curled into a ball and looked about cautiously before taking out a stale piece of bread and tentatively biting into it. Her stomach had been assaulted with hunger for days since she ran away, but she hadn't dared to eat any of her food until now. She chewed the bread pensively, wondering what to do next now that she had made it to Paris. She knew she had an uncle who lived in the area, but she had never seen or met him, which would make things extremely difficult. She was already a poor, bedraggled peasant in the eyes of passersby and those of great status…even if she did find him, would the servants even consider letting her come into his home and see him?

The door swung open suddenly, startling her out of her thoughts as an elderly woman stepped into the night, hissing curses as she checked her basket.

"_Mon Dieu_, how could I have forgotten the brandy for him?!" the woman's voice crackled, the feather in her bonnet fluttering and bobbing above her head. Pursing her lips in frustration, she turned her head to glare at the darkness when she noticed the young girl staring at her with intrigue. "What's the matter, girl? Never seen a woman going out to make a last minute purchase?" she snapped, already in a foul mood.

"Your dress is torn," the girl commented quietly, stunning the old woman. The child was at least twenty, from what she could tell, and her voice was as sweet and soothing as a nightingale. "…may I fix it for you?"

"Fix it?" the old woman repeated, glancing down to see the irksome tear in her ash-black skirt. "I haven't got any string-"

"I do," the girl offered, slipping her bare hand into the basket and withdrawing a spool of matching thread and a thin, shining needle. "I won't be long."

"Just what makes you think I'll let you?" she huffed, though the girl intrigued her, so she walked over to the child and let her get to work. She watched as she girl shivered, her body softly quaking as she worked. Her fingers, though stiff and cold, managed to move deftly, making each stitch count as she fixed the skirt. It wasn't but a minute later when she bit the thread and scooted away from the old woman.

"That should do it," she nodded, putting her belongings back into the basket.

"Well…!" The elder knelt down and checked the skirt, her fingertips caressing the fabric where it had been stripped apart earlier thanks to a loose nail in the floorboards. The skirt felt like silk, as if it had never been ruined. "You have some talent," she nodded gratefully at the girl. "Seamstress?"

"Yes and no," the girl smiled, blushing as she coughed into a worn out handkerchief tucked away into her sleeve.

"I suppose I'll have to pay you," the old woman said, reaching into her own basket when the girl shook her head.

"No, Madame, all I ask is you let me stay in this corner until morning," the girl responded, tightening her hold on her cloak as a breeze blew by.

The woman squinted, struggling to get a better look at the figure in the dark, contemplating a notion in her head. "…are you looking for work?"

She blinked at the question, stunned at first, before answering, "For the time being, yes, Madame."

"Hmm…" The old woman tapped her cheek decisively before offering the girl her hand. "Go on, take my hand, child. I won't bite," she reassured the girl, helping her to her feet. "There is a room inside that is used for old costumes that are in dire need of repair. It's to your left, just down the hall to the third door on your left again. There's a cot there – you may spend the night and then I'll have you put to work once I speak with the managers."

"Madame-" the girl began to protest.

"Don't argue with me, or I'll change my mind," the elder huffed indignantly, her feathered bonnet wavering as she jutted her chin out in defiance. "I can assure you it's better in there than out here."

The girl stared at the woman, startling her with a gentle, heartwarming smile that slowly graced her weary but beautiful face. "_Merci_, Madame. You are too kind."

"Bah," the woman spat, rolling her eyes. "I must go. Remember, when you enter-"

"Turn left and find the third door to my left once more," the girl cut her off, nodding her understanding. "Thank you again, Madame-"

"Giry. I am Madame Giry, concierge for this fine establishment," she beamed as she spoke, her chest sticking out a bit as her feather continued to quiver and bob at her movements. "But what is your name?"

"Angelique Archambault," she introduced herself, curtsying to the elder, startling her even more so.

"_Such a strange child…"_ "Very well, Angelique. Go to your room and I shall return shortly," she promised, bowing her head to her before taking off rather quickly for a woman of her age.

Angelique watched the old woman leave before cautiously turning the knob of the door and entering the building, the warmth of the establishment rushing through her. She gave a relieved sigh before shutting the door once more, looking about as she warily stepped down the hall as she had been instructed, making her way to the third door. Entering the room, she gasped as she saw an assortment of gorgeous fabrics and outfits that were torn and worn, in dire need of repair. She dared to let her fingers slide over one of the nearest dresses, its shimmering champagne hue calling to her.

Setting her basket onto the floor by the cot, she pulled her hood off of her head and released her auburn locks from their hold. As the bun was undone and came down in tangled waves, she sat on the rickety bed and sighed, exhausted and thankful all at once. From somewhere towards the front of the opera, she could hear a woman singing to the eager audience, her voice resounding in the air, though a bit pompous and overbearing at some notes. Her mother's face flickered into her mind, her voice floating in her memory. Prompted by the happy thought, she couldn't help but sing out softly.

"_Au clair de la lune_

_Mon ami Pierrot,_

_Prête-moi ta plume,_

_Pour écrire un mot…"_

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she did so, her knuckles quickly wiping them away. Heaving another melancholy sigh, she lay herself down on the cot and closed her eyes, weeping still. As she drifted off to sleep, she dreamed that an angelic voice sang sweetly to her, as if to comfort her after all she had been through and assist her on her way into slumber land.

"–_Ouvrez votre porte,_

_Pour le Dieu d'Amour…"_


	2. Seamstress or Maid?

**Chapter Two - Seamstress or Maid?**

She could hear someone speaking as she swam in the darkness, her consciousness slowly returning to her as her eyelids fluttered open. With a soft moan, she gently rubbed the sleep out of her eyes before yawning and sitting up in bed. _"What a strange dream…an angel was singing me off to sleep…"_

"Oh good, you're awake."

Angelique turned her head to see Madame Giry entering the room, two figures hovering behind her. Getting to her feet, she curtsied to the woman and smiled at the sight of a tray of freshly made biscuits, porridge, tea, and fruit. "_Merci_, Madame."

"Think nothing of it," she waved it off after setting the meal on a barren table. "Before you eat, I'd like to introduce you to the gentlemen who run the _Palais Garnier_." She waved for them to step forth, to which they did and stood before the girl. "This is Monsieur Richard and Monsieur Moncharmin, the managers. Monsieurs, this is the mademoiselle of which I mentioned."

"So we see," Richard noted, raising an eyebrow at the homely girl. "Madame Giry tells us you can fix clothing with ease."

"I do my best, Monsieur," she admitted humbly.

"Perhaps we can come to an agreement," Moncharmin offered, friendlier in countenance and tone than his partner. "Pick one outfit here that needs repair, and if you can fix it by the end of the day, we will hire you as a seamstress."

She nodded at the idea, her eyes shining in excitement at the prospect. "Thank you, Monsieurs, that's very kind of you-"

"Don't thank us just yet, you haven't proven yourself," Richard waved it off.

"She shall," Madame Giry said stubbornly. "I must be off, but I shall return later to check on you, my dear." Leaning towards the girl, she whispered in her ear, "Good luck" before taking off after the gentlemen, leaving Angelique alone in the room.

Heaving a sigh, she went to her meal and sat it in front of her on the bed, famished and grateful for what she had. She ate heartily, her eyes wandering about the room before they fell upon a gown that appeared to be falling apart. "Ah," she whispered, her lips stretching into a smile. "You'll do perfectly." She could see cupboards and shelves of materials coated lightly in dust, neglected for the longest time in almost a year. Setting the tray off to the side, she slipped her cloak off of her shoulders and set to work, selecting fabrics, threads, ribbons, lace, and tiny gems to repair the gown. Laying everything before her, she measured, cut, sewed, then repeated the actions as needed, the dress consuming her attention. It was not until hours later when a soft gasp at the door caused her to stop and look up from her work.

"Oh, my!" a dark-haired girl exclaimed, gaping and pointing at the nearly-finished dress with her companion. "It's absolutely lovely!"

"Thank you," Angelique smiled, chuckling at how skittish and giggly they were. "Come in if you'd like."

The two ballerinas did so, curling their fingers in delight at the gorgeous spectacle before them. "Oh, mademoiselle, would you make gowns for the rest of us? Oh, please?!" the younger begged, her eyes shining with hope at Angelique.

"I suppose I could, but I have no idea if I'll be able to. I haven't been hired just yet," she informed them as she got back to work.

"You're the lady that Maman found last night, aren't you?" the first girl spoke up, earning her attention. "Maman was right – you're amazing! The managers will hire you, you'll see," she winked knowingly.

Smiling sweetly at the girls, she said, "You're both very kind…what are your names?"

"I'm Meg Giry and this is little Jammes," the ballerina explained.

"I'm not _that_ little, I'm just a year younger than you!" Jammes pouted, earning a laugh from the seamstress.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both. My name is Angelique," she introduced herself with a nod of her head.

"Mademoiselle Angelique, won't you come join us for dinner? And supper afterwards?!" Jammes asked excitedly.

"Well, if I could finish this gown-"

"She must finish the dress first, silly, then when Monsieurs Moncharmin and Richard officially hire her, she can come with us," Meg scolded the girl. Curtsying to the older girl, she beamed and added, "Don't worry, we'll bring you something to eat – might we used that tray you left? You keep at it, we'll be back soon."

"_Merci_, ladies," she winked at them, grateful to have some friends. She watched them scurry away before giggling herself and selecting another gem to add to the bodice of the gown. _"Just a little more stitching by the collar, and then…ah!"_ Setting the needle and excess thread aside, she got to her feet and stepped back, admiring her work. The gown shimmered in a soft gold hue, with subtle touches of lace and precious sequins adorning the outfit in the right places. Her stitches were so well done that the gown appeared to have come in one piece. The skirt billowed out from the narrow bodice, their sleeves puffed out just so, but not too much, and with a sweet little bow made from a velvet ribbon upon the collarbone the ensemble was complete.

Flexing her fingers, she couldn't help but smile at how the gown had come out. Elated that she had finished by dinnertime, she tapped her finger against her cheek as a notion came to mind. "You need a partner," she murmured, starting off back to the cabinets. Humming softly, she began to pick out a rich cobalt material when she heard another voice humming along with her, as if echoing in harmony with her. Her brows furrowed as she looked about, wondering who could be in the room. She walked towards the door, wondering if perhaps a man was close by, poking her head into the hall.

Not a single soul stood outside or nearby, causing her to raise an eyebrow at the incident. "Odd," she muttered, entering the room once more and shaking her head as she returned towards the worktable and materials. _"I must be imagining things…"_ She stopped in her tracks, her eyes falling upon a piece of parchment that lay upon the fabric she had selected not moments ago.

"Where did this come from…?" she whispered, her fingers outstretched. She cautiously picked up the paper and found herself staring wide-eyed in awe at the design of an elegant, handsome, and smartly drawn suit, the perfect accompaniment for the gown she had created. "Oh my," she breathed, a soft smile stretching over her chapped lips as she gazed upon the beautiful concept before her. "It's perfect-"

"We brought some stew and bread, Mad'moiselle Angelique," Jammes called out as she and Meg stepped back into the room with a tray full of steaming food that made her mouth water.

Her head turned to see them enter, her mind still spinning from questions that constantly prodded at her. "Oh, thank you," she said, still holding the design in her hands. "Girls…the strangest thing has just happened."

"What's that?" Meg asked, placing the meal upon a little table by the bedside.

"Oooh! Meg, look! The dress is finished!" Jammes squealed, clapping in delight as she saw the dress restored to a glorious new being.

"I just finished the last details and decided to start a second project," Angelique explained, smiling shyly as the girls gawked from her to the dress and back. Her brows furrowed again, however, at the memory of what had happened, her smile fading. "As I went to get more materials I was humming, and then I heard someone humming along…I could have sworn it was a man."

The girls exchanged glanced, their faces paling, their eyes widening.

"I went to the door to check and see what was going on, but there was no one out in the hall. When I came back, I found this on the bolt of cloth I'd chosen." She showed them the elaborate sketch, hoping for answers. "It's the strangest thing…I don't suppose you know who did this, do you? Apparently, they write in red ink." _"And almost impossible for me to read – this looks as if it were scribbled down as quickly as possible."_

"It's him," Meg whispered, stepping away from the painting as if it were cursed.

"'Him'? 'Him' who?" she echoed, curious to know what all the drama was about.

"The…the Phantom of the Opera!" little Jammes gasped, looking over her shoulder at once, her eyes darting to and fro.

"The what?" Angelique asked, making a face of confusion.

"The Opera Ghost, he haunts the _Palais Garnier_!" Jammes insisted. "You _must_ have heard of him!"

"I'm afraid I haven't," she shook her head. "I fell asleep right away when I came in last night, and I got to work at once this morning, so no, I'm afraid I haven't a clue what you're talking about."

Meg opened her mouth to speak when the booming voice of Richard perpetrated the air and the two managers entered the room.

"Busy, are we?" sneered Richard, not amused at all that the dancing girls were distracting the stray from her work.

"_Mon Dieu_, it's fantastic!" exclaimed Moncharmin, his eyes growing large at the sight of the gown. A delighted smile stretched upon his face as he tapped incessantly upon his friend's shoulder. "Just look at it!"

"What are you talking about-? _Sacre Bleu_!" Richard took a step back to admire the work she had done, and in spite of himself, he felt his jaw drop. "I…I'm rather impressed."

The ballet girls wrung their hands anxiously as they awaited the managers' final decision, biting their lips and holding their breath. Angelique felt her heart thumping violently within her chest as she waited, daring to hope that they might say…

"Mademoiselle, we would be delighted if you would stay here and work as our new seamstress," Moncharmin beamed, elated that his partner was so dumbstruck he was still staring at the gown in awe. "I don't believe I've ever known anyone who could recreate such a lovely and complicated costume in such a short amount of time. The previous seamstress passed away months ago from what we were told, and since we are fairly new here, with all the responsibilities and…" He exchanged a look with Richard, who now had his full attention on Angelique, "…recent events…we haven't had the time to search one out. Won't you stay? You'll receive your pay upon completing each new costume and restoring it to its proper glory."

She curtsied to them, a glowing smile on her face. "It would be my honor, Monsieurs. Thank you so very much!"

"Don't thank us just yet," Richard held up a finger, his brows furrowing. "If you are truly committed to working here in the Opera Garnier, you must be willing to complete one other task since Madame Giry has gone into town for the day and has yet to return."

"And what is that, sirs?" she asked, stunned by their sudden solemn state.

"…you must prepare Box Five for tonight's performance."


	3. The Voice and the Comte

**Chapter Three - The Voice and the Comte**

"Stay away from any trapdoors you may find," Meg warned Angelique as she and Jammes guided her towards the infamous Box Five of the mysterious and dangerous Opera Ghost.

"Or _he_ might jump out from behind and grab you when you least expect it," Jammes whispered, her eyes darting to and fro as she anxiously looked about for any sign of the Phantom.

"I doubt this 'ghost' would have any interest in me," Angelique reassured them with a wry smile.

"That was a terrible trick of Monsieur Richard to pull on you," Meg scowled. "If Maman was here, she would have put up a fight. Funny, I don't remember her being out so long all day."

"Never mind that, Meg. I'll be alright, you'll see," she said, patting the ballerina's shoulder. "You two scurry along, I've got work to do."

The two girls cast her a final look, their eyes wide with concern and suspicion of the area, before taking off the way they came. As they hurried, they had to squeeze by a man carrying a rather large vase filled with roses. He gulped as he nearly had a misstep before giving a breath of relief and grumbling as he moved on towards the entrance. He was so preoccupied with the vase and hallway that he failed to notice a single rose lying on the floor, right in front of Angelique as she prepared to enter the private box.

She was adjusting her apron when she saw the forlorn flower. Kneeling down, she tenderly picked it up and sniffed its rich fragrance, caressing its velvet petals. A soft smile came to her lips as she tucked the stem into her belt before grabbing her bag and entering Box 5.

Placing the bag between the door and its frame, she selected the feather duster and got straight to work, following the routine one of the maids had pointed out to her. As she worked, she couldn't help but remember all that the girls had mentioned about this infamous Phantom of the Opera.

"He killed off Joseph Buquet, the stagehand, just a few nights ago. Carlotta became ill suddenly and Christine Daae – she was a chorus girl before – became the star for that evening," Meg had explained. "Maman says I shouldn't gossip, but really, I'm only telling you these things so you know and it's for your own good."

"Don't forget that your mother works with that terrible ghost!" little Jammes had shuddered as they had went walking down the hall.

"Your mother works for the ghost?" Angelique asked, skeptical. All this talk of a ghost haunting the place didn't sound like a ghost to her…but then, there was that angelic voice that kept tickling her ears when she least expected it…

A boastful, full operatic voice filled the air, but instead of inspiring Angelique, it made her cringe in discontent. "Sweet Lord!" she murmured, hurrying to the balcony to peek down and see what was happening.

Standing on the stage was a rather robust woman with midnight hair piled on her head, her blood-red lips parted as she sung out, straining as hard as she could so her voice would continue onto the farthest reaches of the earth.

"Madame! Please, there's no need to-" Gabriel, the chorus instructor struggled to get her to quiet down a bit, only to have the intimidating woman snap at him.

"I am _singing_! Let me practice, monsieur, as I am certainly not going to miss my show tonight!" she snarled, reminding Angelique of the starving dogs she had seen on her way to Paris, growling as another would enter his territory looking for a morsel.

"_Mon Dieu_, _that's_ singing?!" whispered Angelique with a grimace. Wincing as the woman continued, she began to turn away when a sharp snap and the whirl of a fast-moving item earned her attention. Carlotta screeched in horror, causing the girl to spin around and watch with wide eyes a sandbag suddenly fall from the rafters and nearly smack the diva on the skull. "Oh my-!"

"He's here! It's the Opera Ghost!" the ballet girls squealed in panic, frantically gathering around La Sorelli, the head ballerina of the corps.

"Settle down! Settle down!" Monsieur Gabriel snapped at the girls, though he, too, was shaken. "Are you alright, Madame-?!"

"Do I _look_ alright?! I was nearly plastered to death!" the woman screamed, raining curses on the fool who had dared to try such a stunt on her.

Angelique continued to watch the display before her, her brows furrowing in curiosity. Sandbags didn't just fall on their own, and papers did not materialize out of nowhere…Whatever this Opera Ghost was, she was steadfast in one belief – it was most certainly _not_ a specter. She believed strongly in the idea of Heaven and Hell, of angels and spirits, but this didn't quite settle with her. Turning away, she started polishing the armrests of the seats, softly humming as she left her thoughts wander. Just what could it be if it wasn't a ghost…?

She stopped suddenly, hearing the soothing, hypnotic voice that hummed with her back in the workroom. She didn't move for a full minute, waiting to see what would happen. Would this "ghost" drop something on her as well, or try to kill her as it had with the stagehand, Buquet?

The still silence around her made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up despite her wishes to be brave, and when the voice started humming again without her, she began to wonder what kind of a person she was dealing with. The voice seemed to come from all over the room, echoing and gentle, a whisper from the Heavens that comforted her tired soul. Cautiously, she got back to work, not daring to utter a sound as she listened to the voice hum to her. For ten minutes it continued, as she slowed her work to listen to the angelic sound, despite knowing the danger she was in. At long last, she gathered her belongings together in the bag and letting her eyes dart about.

She could see nothing that would indicate a presence, and though it unnerved her, she couldn't help but feel excited – whoever this person was, he was trying very hard to appear to be a phantom. As she placed her hand over her waist to untie that apron, she received a sweet, soft reminder of the rose she had collected from the floor. Slipping it out of her belt, she sniffed it fragrance once more before placing it on one of the seats and curtsying to it.

"Please accept this, Monsieur Opera Ghost, whoever and wherever you are," she said with a wry smile, slinging the bag over her shoulder and exiting the room.

She walked down the hall, just as the girls had shown her, and finally arrived at the door of the managers' office. Knocking twice on the door, she waited patiently until Monsieur Moncharmin called out, "Come in." As she entered the room, she could see the delight and surprise in his eyes. "Mademoiselle! You're just the person I wanted to see. And before I forget, I must apologize for Firmin's behavior and request." He shook his head at this, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He's desperate to sell that box and very few venture in Box 5 all because of this 'Opera Ghost' that tampers with everything!"

"I understand, Monsieur," she bowed her head. "It was no trouble at all."

"You didn't see or hear anything strange, did you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

"No, of course not," she lied. "Now, where do I leave the cleaning supplies?"

"Oh, those go in the closet by the dressing rooms, it's clearly labeled and not too far from your workroom," he informed her, his face lighting up. "Now come and have a look at this catalog I have. There are several fabrics here that I think you'll find appropriate for the gowns you'll be making."

Joining him by the grand desk, Angelique peered at the pages, taking in the wonderful variety of cloths and applications that could be used, ideas already spilling into her mind. "Oh, Monsieur…these are wonderful!"

"Take the book, my dear girl," he chuckled. "Make your designs first, then select what you'll need. I will order them myself for you."

"Oh thank you!" she beamed, her eyes aglow with excitement. "I shan't let you down!"

"I know you won't-" he began warmly, only to stop when the office door opened and Richard stepped back in.

"Do come in, _mons_\- Moncharmin, what's _she_ doing in here?!" Richard fumed, seeing how the cleaning girl had stepped into the office.

"Richard, where are your manners?!" Moncharmin snapped back, embarrassed at his treatment of the humble girl. "She just got back from cleaning Box 5 and is going to start designing the outfits for the shows!"

"You have a new seamstress?" a new voice penetrated the room, startling both Moncharmin and Angelique.

Stepping into the room was a man in his early forties, quite handsome to look at though his grey eyes appeared cold at times. He was clearly an aristocrat and a valuable patron of this opera, smartly dressed and ready for anything the world threw at him. Upon seeing the stunning blue-grey eyes and untamed auburn locks that framed the working girl's face, the man blinked in surprise, his heart suddenly fluttering. He had never felt this way, and never expected to. The child must have been at least half his age, and yet, he couldn't help but feel strongly for her.

"Mademoiselle," he bowed deeply, startling the other three figures. "Pardon my intrusion. Allow me to introduce myself – I am Philippe Georges Marie, Comte de Chagny."

Angelique was stunned to have received such a greeting, and when she began to doubt it as a jest, he took her hand and placed a kiss upon her skin, sending Richard into a frantic frenzy.

"Comte! She's merely a cleaning girl-!"

"Seamstress," Moncharmin glared as he corrected his friend. "_You_ started giving the title and work of a cleaning girl, _mon ami_."

Angelique could feel blush forming on her face, not because she was bashful before this dashing man, rather it was embarrassing to be treated so in front of her bosses. This stranger made her feel slightly uncomfortable until she realized he had said his name was "de Chagny." Perhaps he would know her uncle…

"Please monsieur, this is unnecessary for me," she insisted, tucking her hair behind her ear as she curtsied to him once he was on his feet. "I am simply Angelique Archambault."

His brows furrowed at the name, stroking his moustache as he searched his memory for the source of such similarity. "Archambault…Archambault…wait!" His eyes widened as he snapped his fingers in recognition. "You wouldn't happen to be related to Comte Pierre Archambault, would you?"

"He's my uncle," she nodded with a slight smile. "I've never met him, but my father told me he lived somewhere in Paris."

"Wait a moment, you're related to a Comte?!" Richard squeaked, suddenly feeling guilty for how he was treating her. Moncharmin just smirked at his back.

"He _does_ have an estate here, but I'm afraid he's fallen ill and moved towards the countryside for the time being," he told her, feeling his stomach twist in a knot as he saw her eyes dim. "But I know I have his address – I could write to him and let him know of your presence here in the Opera."

"I couldn't let you do that-" she protested, not wanting to be in debt in anyone.

He held up his hand in a sign for her that he would not stop in his chivalry. "Consider it done. I'll send that letter out before the day is over. You have my word, mademoiselle." He kissed her hand again, making her turn rose pink.

Richard tugged on Moncharmin's coat, hissing suspiciously, "What if she's just making up this whole story?"

"I highly doubt this young lady would ever dare to-"

"Well I think she could be," he snapped. "E-hem! I hate to break this up, but so long as you are in this opera house, you shall work here. Right now, we need someone to take towels to La Carlotta and Mademoiselle Daae."

"Of course," Angelique nodded, eager to get away from the count, no matter how much of a gentleman he was to her. "Please excuse me," she said, taking the catalog from Mocharmin and curtsying to them men. "_Merci_, Monsieur, for your help," she added before scurrying out the door.

Philippe watched her leave, fascinated by her humbleness. May women he had met were either very submissive to a point it was sickening, or they were so haughty that he couldn't stand to be in the same room as them. When he had met the spunky yet classy La Sorelli, he was intrigued by her and came to visit often. But now with Angelique…he began to wonder if she might be the one that was meant for him.


	4. Prima Donna Problems

**Chapter Four - Prima Donna Problems**

Angelique hurried past the boxes and halls until she made it backstage, where the wooden rafters and painted props replaced carpeted floors and golden door handles. Her eyes scanned the walls until she saw the two doors explicitly labeled for the two divas. Arriving at the first, she knocked and waited. She could hear that horrid Spanish woman shouting and arguing from within, making Angelique jump at the sound of china smashing.

A middle-aged woman poked her head out from the door, her hair sticking out every which-way under her cap. "What?!" she gasped, clearly out of breath and frustrated.

"The managers sent towels-" she started, nearly jumping back as the woman took the stack in her right hand and shut the door in her face. Memories flooded her mind as she clutched the solitary stack of cloth in her hands, her brows furrowing as she squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

"_Forget it. You're safe now, far away from them."_ Urging herself onward, she took several steps down the hall until she saw the name "Daae" emblazoned on another door. She bit her lip as she heard two voices inside, also heated and rising in anger. Tempted to walk away, she forced herself to stay put. Raising her hand to knock on the door, she found herself tapping her knuckles against a man's chest, covered in fine, expensive clothes. "Oh!" she gasped, stepping away as she realized the gentleman had opened the door so quickly that she was hitting him instead of the wood. "_Pardon, monsieur_!" she exclaimed, curtsying at once.

His look of frustration at the woman in the room changed to one of surprise upon seeing Angelique, a gentle smile appearing on his lips. He was a handsome young man, just a year older than herself, though he had the appearance of a lad of eighteen. He had a fair complexion, beautiful eyes the color of a clear summer's day, and golden blonde hair, with a moustache appearing on his upper lip.

"I beg your pardon, _mademoiselle_. It is _I_ should be apologizing." He tipped his hat to her before looking over his shoulder and sending a glare to the woman inside. "Good day, _Miss Daae_."

"Don't ever see me again, Raoul. Just don't," a strained, quivering voice from within retorted.

With a growl, the young man muttered his apologies to Angelique before stalking past her and down the hall. She raised an eyebrow at this before tentatively stepping into the diva's room. "_Mademoiselle_?"

"What is it?" Sitting at the far left corner of the lavender room was a beautiful girl at an elegant vanity. She was a vision, an angel on earth with cascading curls that fell over her shoulders and shone like the sun, while her eyes appeared to be drops of the ocean, changing from jade to cerulean in the light of the candelabras. Her skin was soft and pale, her lips painted by an artist – full and pink, curved with perfection, while her lashes fluttered upon the tops of her cheeks. She couldn't have been any older than Angelique, but there was something about her spirit and being that gave her the look of a fifteen year old child.

After taking her in, Angelique noticed how the girl's eyes shone with tears, her bottom lip quaking as she struggled not to cry. "_Mon Dieu_, what's wrong?!" Angelique declared, setting the towels down and rushing to her side. She couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor girl, wanting to wrap her arms around her and reassure her that all would be well.

"I can't…I just _can't_!" she wept, covering her face as she sobbed into her hands.

Without a second thought, Angelique placed her arms around her and embraced the poor girl, letting her cry on her dress. "There, there, it can't be that bad…"

"But it is," she sniffled, struggling to clean her face. Angelique grabbed the kerchief off the vanity and handed it to the girl, allowing her a few moments to recollect herself. "Thank you…oh, look at me," she sighed, wiping her tears away. "I'm so sorry…" Raising her eyes, she finally got a good look at the young woman, her eyes narrowing just a smidge as she struggled to place the new face. "I'm sorry, I don't believe I've ever seen you before."

"You couldn't have. I only just arrived here last night," Angelique shook her head with a smile, her tangled locks gently moving against her neck with the slight motion of her head. "My name is Angelique, I'm the new seamstress."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening as she heard the news. "Oh, _you're_ the new seamstress! I heard about you from little Jammes and Meg Giry." Her face seemed to brighten as a smile graced her face. "I couldn't help myself – I stopped by the workroom earlier and saw that dress you made. How did you manage?! It's absolutely stunning!"

"You're too kind," she blushed, a delighted smile on her face. "Thank you, Miss Daae-"

"Christine, please," she insisted, taking the girl's hand in her own. "I'm so happy you could join the _Opera Garnier_. God has blessed your hands, _cherie_."

"And your voice, from what I've heard," Angelique added. "I would very much like to hear you at a performance."

"I'm performing _Faust_ tonight, actually," Christine informed her, the light from her eyes dimming a bit. "I'll be in the background tonight, La Carlotta is Margarita."

"How unfortunate," grimaced Angelique. "I heard her earlier today…her performance was very…loud."

Christine could not suppress a giggle, causing Angelique to join her. "Oh, I'm horrid!" Christine shook her head, though she couldn't stop herself.

"Not at all," she disagreed. "I'd like to see you perform the role, though."

"You are not the only one," Christine murmured, her eyes darting about as she took in the room.

Angelique frowned at her reaction but said nothing. "I take it you and the young gentleman are courting-?"

"Heavens, no!" Christine gasped, shaking her head violently.

Startled, Angelique blinked at her before making a face of confusion. "Sorry…my mistake."

"Oh dear, if only, if only!" Christine moaned.

"What is it?" Angelique insisted, falling to her knees and looking up at the girl. "Christine, if there is anything I can do to help-"

"Unless you can convince angels to change their minds, there is nothing you can do," Christine answered softly, shaking her head.

"Angels? What do angels have to do with anything?" asked the seamstress, extremely perplexed by the dilemma.

Looking into Angelique's eyes, Christine gripped her hands and whispered, "You _do_ believe in angels, don't you?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"If I tell you, you won't think I'm mad?"

"No, of course not. Christine, what is all this-?"

Without another word, Christine leapt onto her feet and ran to the door, shutting it and snapping the lock into place before motioning for Angelique to join her on the settee. "Please, sit here," she pleaded, patting the empty spot beside her. The girl obeyed the singer, waiting for an explanation. "I really shouldn't tell you, Angelique, but I do so desperately need to talk to someone or I shall go utterly mad!" When the seamstress said nothing, looking at her with patient, quiet eyes, Christine took a breath and finally began to speak. "My father was the one who first taught me how to sing, but he became ill some time ago. Before he died, he promised he would send me the Angel of Music to watch over me…and he did! I was only here a few months before my Angel found me. He gives me lessons, Angelique, and that is how my singing has improved. I love him so dearly, I want him to be with me always, but…"

"But you cannot see the young man," Angelique surmised, suspicious about this angel that Christine mentioned.

"Yes," Christine nodded. "His name is Raoul, he's the Vicomte de Chagny."

"The Vicomte?!" gaped Angelique. _"It appears both brothers are interested in the opera…"_

"_Oui_," Christine nodded. "He and I were childhood friends…He's in love with me." Her face became a lovely shade of pink, nearly turning red.

"Don't you love him back?" asked Angelique.

"I cannot," she shook her head stubbornly. "I don't want my Angel to go away to Heaven and leave me here alone."

"I see," muttered the seamstress. "So you turn the Vicomte away for the Angel."

"Yes! You understand, don't you? He's a link to my father. Raoul is a dear friend, but I cannot abandon my Angel!"

"…how do you love your angel, Christine?"

She blinked, stunned by the question. "_Pardon_?"

"How do you love him?" she repeated. "As a friend? Guardian? Father-figure? Lover-?"

"Heavens, no, not like that," she shook her head, her face rather red. "No…he's my world. He's everything…but I cannot love him like…_that_." She let her hair cover her face, clearly embarrassed. "It's forbidden for humans and angels to be in love, you know."

"Yes, I know," Angelique nodded. "Well…whatever you decide, I shall be there for you."

Christine raised her eyes, a grateful smile on her lips as she saw genuine concern and care in Angelique's grey-blue eyes. "Oh, thank you! Thank you, Angelique! I knew you'd understand me." She embraced her tightly, kissing her cheek. "You're a darling!"

"Hardly," Angelique chuckled, shaking her head as she hugged her back. "Everything will turn out all right, Christine, you'll see." Patting her friend's hands, she got up and made her way for the door. "I must go – you need to prepare and I need to get back to work."

"Come and watch the performance from the wings, won't you? Where the ballerinas wait for their cues!" Christine pleaded, earning a grin from the girl.

"I shall – I promise!" Shutting the door behind her, Angelique walked away from the room, her brows furrowing as she remembered what Christine had told her. _"Something's not right…why would the 'Angel' deny Christine happiness with someone who clearly loves her?"_ Walking through the halls and passages, Angelique glanced around and listened carefully, a theory floating in her mind._"Could this 'Angel' and the Opera Ghost be one in the same?"_

**~OG~**

"Mademoiselle!" Jammes hissed as she poked her head through the doorway of the room. "Do hurry! Christine Daae will be singing soon!"

Angelique looked up from her work, exhausted from taking inventory and starting on new designs since she came back from seeing Christine. She had eaten a meager supper quickly and gotten to work at once, excited to get busy, her mind still spinning with the thought of ghosts and angels. Jammes's reminder of the show made her jump, realizing that she had most likely missed the first part of the show. "I'm coming," she said, flexing her fingers and stretching her arms before twisting her hair into a bun and rushing out after the ballerina. "Which way?"

"Hurry!" Jammes squealed, scampering off. Leading the young woman, she skidded to a halt and grabbed Angelique's hand, tugging her through the maze of people working backstage until they arrived at last at the _corps de ballet_.

"Mademoiselle, you made it!" Meg smiled, though it did not reach her eyes.

"Meg, have you seen your mother? I just wanted to let her know how everything's been going since we last spoke," Angelique asked, concern bubbling within her breast the moment Meg gave her a miserable look.

"Maman's been…released from her services," Meg informed her quietly. "The managers didn't want her because she worked for the…Phantom."

Angelique's jaw dropped at this, a mixture of worry, anger, and sympathy filling her. After everything that woman did for her, how could she not feel sorry? "Oh, Meg!"

"Jammes, where did you-?" a tall, slender, dark-haired woman asked, raising an eyebrow at Angelique. "Who is this?"

"Angelique, the seamstress," Jammes stated proudly.

"This is not a place for the others to join and watch-"

"Sorelli, Mademoiselle Daae asked her to come and watch here!" Meg Giry piped up.

"It's all right, girls," Angelique shushed them. "I'll find another place-"

"**Co-ack**!"

Everything seemed to pause, as if frozen from the shock of hearing such a prominent, defining sound that unnaturally came out of the _prima donna's_ mouth. The ballerinas' attention now on the stage, Angelique peered out at La Carlotta and gaped in amazement.

"W-well, go on!" Richard's voice was heard as he shouted from Box Five.

Taking a deep breath, Carlotta trembled as she tried once more, the audience at the edge of their seats, anxiously awaiting the next note.

"_I feel without alarm –_**_co-ack_**_!_

_With its melody enwind me –_**_co-ack_**_!_

_And all my heart sub –_**_co-ack_**_!"_

The house was in an uproar at this, whispering, gasping, pointing, crying out. Angelique was torn between wanting to gasp in shock and laugh in disbelief – how was this possible?! Suddenly, a voice filled the air that sent shivers down her spine.

"_Behold_! She is singing tonight to bring down **_the chandelier_**!"

Her eyes darted towards the ceiling, widening as they saw the massive, beautiful chandelier hanging over the audience now dangling precariously. "_Mon Dieu_, look!" she pointed. The sparkling structure was released from its hold, free falling down towards the people below. Screams filled the air as it collapsed, a resounding crash shaking the building as the people leapt from their seats and ran for their lives.

"_Sacre bleu_!" La Sorelli screamed, her hand going to her mouth instantly.

"The Opera Ghost!" the chorus girls and ballerinas screeched.

On stage, the lights flickered for a mere instant. La Carlotta collapsed onto the floor in a dead faint, and the actors remaining on stage gasped and cried out as they realized something was terribly wrong.

"Miss Daae?! Where's Miss Daae?!" she heard someone shout.

"She's gone!" another shouted. "She's disappeared!"

Turning on her heel, Angelique ran out of the wing, shoving past the frantic girls and shouting stagehands until she arrived backstage, her eyes scanning the area as best as she could. "Christine? Christine!" she shouted, moving towards the dressing rooms. Gathering her skirts into her fists, she ran as quickly as she could, praying that the singer could be found in her dressing room. Christine's words drifted through her mind once more, the Opera Ghost and Angel of Music suddenly meshing together. _"Could it be they're one in the same…?"_

Reaching for the door, she frowned as she noticed that the door was cracked open. "Christine?" she called out, placing her palm against the wood and pushing it open. Stepping into the room, she found two figures searching frantically in the singer's quarters. "Comte and Vicomte de Chagny?!"


	5. Beware the Trapdoors

**Chapter Five - Beware the Trapdoors**

Angelique watch the men spin around to face her, their eyes enlarging upon seeing her at the door.

"Mademoiselle Archambault!" Philippe exclaimed, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile.

"Mademoiselle! Tell me you've seen her! I beg of you, please tell me you know where Christine is!" Raoul de Chagny begged, lunging for her and grasping her arms.

"I would if I knew, _Monsieur_. Please unhand me," she said calmly, watching his face as he realized what he had done and immediately released her.

"Forgive me," he said, his face flushed bright red. "But I am extremely anxious to know of her whereabouts."

"She was nothing but trouble, Raoul, I warned you!" Philippe scolded him, his brows furrowed in frustration. "That girl-!"

"That girl is my friend, and I intend to find out just what happened," Angelique interrupted, sending him a cold look.

"But the police-" Raoul began.

"At this moment, I doubt the police will be looking for Christine Daae, monsieur. That chandelier has most likely killed someone-"

"The concierge," Philippe informed them. "He was supposed to have replaced Madame Giry, but the chandelier hit him and he died instantly, according to the managers."

"_That poor man, and poor Madame!"_ Angelique thought, placing her hand upon her cheek as she struggled to think. _"Where could Christine have be taken to? This Opera Ghost_ must _be the culprit, therefore I must find him. But where can one find a phantom…?"_

"_Stay away from any trapdoors you may find,"_ Meg Giry's voice echoed in her mind.

The idea struck her so suddenly that she almost exclaimed a cry of delight, but she held her tongue, glancing at the two men as they bantered on what to do next. The last thing she needed was someone hovering over her shoulder or telling her what to do.

"I'm going to find the police," Raoul said stubbornly, his blue eyes hard and cold as he glared at his brother. "I _shall_ find Christine!"

Both Philippe and Angelique watched him storm out of the dressing room, silent and pensive. "I'm sorry for my brother's behavior," the elder said politely, turning to the seamstress. "And I'm sorry if I offended you."

"Of course not," she answered lightly, ready to leave and search as soon as possible. "Do excuse me, I shouldn't be here anyways."

"_Mademoiselle_, won't you come back with us?" he said suddenly, startling her so much that she looked over her shoulder to stare at him.

"_Pardon_?" she asked, one eyebrow arched at him.

Holding his hands up in defense, he looked her in the eye and explained, "Do not misunderstand me, Mademoiselle Archambault. I realize it must be difficult to be in your situation, and now with this madness, the opera house is not a safe place to be. Raoul and I live not too far from here, and we have several spare rooms. I've already sent a letter to your uncle, mademoiselle, and I should feel rather guilty to not at least offer you a home until we get a response from him."

She blinked, stunned by his answer. Biting her bottom lip, she turned to face him and bowed her head. "I thank you for your generosity, _Monsieur le Comte_, but I must refuse. I could not take advantage of your kindness-"

"But you wouldn't!" he insisted, stopping himself as he realized he was beginning to sound as impulsive as his little brother. "Please, Miss Angelique-"

"I have been in worse situations than this, Comte de Chagny, I can assure you," she said with a smile though her eyes were grim. "I have survived, and I will not be intimidated by some 'ghost'. Thank you, though, for your concern." Curtsying, she turned and stepped out of the room, quickening her step as she made her way for the halls once more.

"_Mademoiselle_, wait! Please-!" Philippe cried, stretching his arm after her as he exited the room and started to chase her.

"Philippe!"

He stopped in his tracks as the new voice assaulted him, turning his head to the left to see La Sorelli running towards him. She was still dressed in her scarlet ballet gown, her hair curled and placed atop her head so that the ringlets surrounded her frightened face. "Oh, Philippe! Thank goodness I found you! Did you find anything out?"

"No," he shook his head, gentlemanly offering his arm to her, which she instantly accepted and curled at his side. "No, nothing yet…" His eyes drifted towards the direction in which Angelique had vanished, his stomach twisting in a knot. "But I'm sure I shall soon."

**~OG~**

With a spool of thick thread from the workroom and a lit candle in her hands, Angelique stepped cautiously into the darkness of the back of the theater. She could make out a faint scent of horses and manure, signaling that she was close to the stalls. While it would have been easier to find a trapdoor at the front of the theater where the stage was located, it was swarming with police and onlookers – she wanted to be alone. Coming upon a wall lined with dimly lit torches, she inspected the area, her fingers caressing the walls' surface.

Suddenly, her fingers felt the slight, unnatural crack that could be associated with a door. It was nearly seamless, but there it was, even more inconspicuous in the shadows. These halls were barely used or visited, cobwebs forming in the corners of the corridors. Her brows knit together as she brought the candle, placed firmly in its rusted holder, up to the wall, allowing her to inspect any marks and bumps that might appear. Releasing a sigh, she raised her arm and grasped the torch placed in the wall, hoping to strengthen its light by placing her candle on its stem. It jerked suddenly with her weight, causing her to jump back in surprise, a squeak escaping her lips despite her efforts to remain calm. As the torch dropped, a door slid open before her, showing the entrance to a dark labyrinth within the massive building.

"…well, let's get a move on," she whispered to herself, stepping into the doorway. Setting the candle down, she took a moment and swiftly tied the beginning of the thread onto the torch's handle before entering once more, the spool tactfully held in one hand whilst the candle was held aloft in the other. She had made it in just a few steps when the secret door shut on her, encasing her in darkness. She remained perfectly still, with only the light of the candle illuminating the passageway. Inhaling silently, she held her breath and moved onward, her eyes scanning the perimeter constantly, her ears alert to any and every sound.

For what felt like eons, she moved on, always allowing the thread to unfurl, the candlelight gently lighting the way for her. Several times she stopped, hearing rats scurry by or water drip onto the cobblestone floors, half expecting something to jump out at her. _"Get a hold of yourself,"_ she scolded herself, as she reached a set of winding stairs. She hadn't seen hide nor hair of anyone in the passages, which she now assumed to be catacombs from the distinct smell that the halls and stones gave off. _"I just hope I don't get lost-"_

No sooner had she stepped off the stairway and into the new passage, a looming figure appeared to pop out of the shadows. A scream escaped her as she jumped back, dropping the thread in her fright as a hand reached out and covered her mouth. Twisting her body, she began to fight back when the stranger held up his torch and stepped towards her, showing his swarthy face.

"Shh!" His eyes darted to and fro, listening for any sound other than the dying echo of her scream. Satisfied, he removed his hand from her face and knelt down, grasping the spool with his long fingers. "I apologize for frightening you," he said humbly, his voice tinted with a thick, Persian accent. He stood once again, offering her the thread when she did not move. "However, you should not be here, _mademoiselle_. It is quite dangerous."

She remain silent and still, accepting the spool from him while taking in his countenance. She had only seen him once before – early that evening, just before the show started, she found him wandering behind the stage, tall and imposing in his foreign apparel. He had a dark complexion, narrow jade eyes, and a short black beard growing from his chin, the look completed with an astrakhan cap upon his head. "You… you're the one they call 'The Persian', aren't you?"

A small smile grew on his lips as he bowed to her. "I am he, however, you may call me 'Daroga', Mademoiselle Archambault."

She gaped at him, shyly tucking her hair out of her face. "How did you-?"

"You are the subject of the ballerinas' chatter lately, I'm afraid," he chuckled. "And it is difficult to ignore them, especially when in a cluster. They greatly admire your work and are extremely curious about you."

"Oh," she said quietly. Pursing her lips in thought, she asked, "_Monsieur_, you tell me it is not safe here, and yet, you are also wandering the catacombs… why?"

"The same reason you have – to find Christine Daae." He held up his hand when she opened her mouth, motioning for her to wait. "Walk with me, _mademoiselle_, and I shall explain. However, you shall have to leave either your thread or candle behind. It is important when down here that you keep your hand at the level of your eyes, lest you wish to lose your life."

She frowned at this, unable to comprehend what he meant. However, she _was_ extremely curious, so she blew out her candle and set it on the floor, abandoning it as she joined the man's side and continued to unwind the thread, the torch now their only source of light.

"I was the head of police in my country, thus the title 'Daroga' was given to me," he explained. "It was there that I first met Erik."

"Erik?" she repeated, the name sending shivers down her spine.

"He is the Opera Ghost," Daroga informed her. "He is a genius, Miss. He is a ventriloquist, a singer, a musician, an architect, a composer, a magician, an artist, an assassin… he can accomplish just about anything he sets his mind to… unfortunately, he is hideously deformed."

"Deformed?" she echoed. "How?"

"His entire being, but mostly his face," the man answered with a stern face. He continued to guide her, already very familiar with some of the underground passages. "He looks like Death himself… those that see his face want to forget it, and many have died after seeing it."

She said nothing, absorbing all that he said, her imagination spinning with ideas and the words the Persian now spoke. "How did you meet him?"

"He has traveled all over the world. For a time, he stopped in Persia and worked for the Shah and his daughter, the little Sultana. Once he outlived his usefulness, however, the Shah ordered me to kill him."

"But you didn't," she cut in.

He shook his head. "No… we had a mutual understanding…I had seen his face before and accepted him nonetheless. We had done small favors for one another, and when I was told he was to be executed, I simply could not do it. So I helped him escape, and for a time, all was quiet until I was allowed to retire and given my pension… and then I heard about strange happenings here in the opera. I came to investigate and knew at once that it was Erik who was up to no good. It is the new managers that are giving him so much trouble that he feels the need to strike out in such an alarming manner. Also, he is infatuated with Miss Daae. He is her instructor."

"The Angel of Music," she whispered, making the connection at once.

"Yes. Now he has taken her, and I fear that it will be their undoing. That is why it is not safe for you to be here. If he should find us wandering these corridors, he may not be so merciful. He has a lasso and can strike with deadly precision. It would be too late when you finally notice that you are in his clutches."

"How did you know I was looking for Christine and not the Phantom?" she asked, avoiding a large puddle as she allowed him to guide her even deeper into the catacombs, the air becoming cooler as they moved onward.

"I heard you and Miss Daae speaking in her dressing room this afternoon," he confessed. "I was looking for Erik and happened to pass by. Again, I apologize."

"Well, I'm just grateful it was _you_ who found me, Monsieur Daroga," she smiled.

He smiled back before looking up, stopping in his tracks. "Look."

She followed his gaze, her eyes widening at the sight of a handsome white horse tethered to a post as a torch placed into the wall lit up the area, showing them that he was chewing on a mouthful of hay. A bucket of water and a pile of hay lay on the floor for the magnificent animal, and he blinked calmly at them as they approached.

"It appears Erik is the culprit of the missing _Profeta_ horse," the Persian noted.

Angelique reached out and caressed the creature's face, letting the horse sniff her. "Why would he take a horse?"

"Most likely to assist him in bringing down Mademoiselle Daae," Daroga answered, motioning for her to follow. "Come…and remember, keep your hand by your eyes."

She did as she was told, even if she felt it looked a bit ridiculous, and walked down the path until she saw a vast expanse of water before them. "A lake…!"

"On the other side is Erik's home," the Persian informed her. "Please, Miss, stay close." His eyes rested on a lone boat tied to the steps. "If we are to find Miss Daae, we must hurry. Erik cannot see us-"

"I'm afraid, Daroga, it is too late."

The sound of the menacing, velvet-like voice seemed to swirl around them, like the mist rolling off of the murky waters. Angelique felt her body stiffen as she heard the voice, wanting to step closer to the Persian, and yet, not daring to make a move for fear that the Phantom would attack.

"Erik," said the Daroga, slowly turning around and looking for the man. "We have come for Miss Daae – you must release her!"

"I beg to differ," sneered the voice, a shadow sneaking up behind the other man.

"_Monsieur_, look out!" cried Angelique, dropping the thread once more that evening as she pointed at the oncoming figure.

The Persian spun around quickly, raising his arms as his opponent attacked. He grunted as they struggled, planting his feet firmly to the ground. "You cannot keep her here!"

"You cannot tell me what to do!" the masked figure snapped back.

Angelique watched in awe as the two men battled – one from the East, the other a man of darkness and shades, his head and body covered with a midnight cloak, an expressionless mask covering the face, with two slots for the eyes. She gasped as she noted how brilliantly his eyes glowed, appearing to be golden coals set in dark, black sockets. As the men continued to fight, her eyes were instantly drawn to the edge of the steps that led to the boat and water. If they continued to struggle with one another, surely they would fall in and get injured, possibly even drown!

"Stop!" she cried out, running to them. With her arms outstretched, she gave a mighty shove at the two, stunning them long enough to pause and see what had caused her to do so. No sooner had she roughly shoved them, her ankle gave out from under her, sending her off balance and tripping. With a scream, she felt herself slip off of the edge and plunge into the icy waters, sinking with each passing second.


	6. Erik, the Opera Ghost

**Chapter Six - Erik, the Opera Ghost**

Angelique screamed – at least, she tried to. She had never learned how to swim, but that didn't stop her from trying. Flailing her arms and kicking her legs, she fought to get back to the surface, though her lungs and nostrils burned and were filled with the terribly cold water. _"Don't stop – keep moving!"_ she told herself, desperate for air. She had not made it this far only to drown in an underground lake – she wouldn't allow it.

A long, thin arm slithered around her, pulling her close to a torso. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened once more as another scream escaped her, filling her with even more water than before. Struggling, she felt her elbow jab something smooth and hard before the figure gave her a violent tug, signaling for her to stop. It was a futile suggestion, however, as she soon began to fade away, her head bowing as she lost consciousness…

"_Mon Dieu_! Erik, is she-?!"

"She's alive…_merde_! Where is it?!"

"What?"

"My mask, you fool! Where is…oh no."

"What?!"

"She hit Erik's face underwater…it must have slipped off when Erik brought her up!"

"Erik-!"

"No, don't let her see me-!"

Her eyelids fluttered open whilst they spoke, her mind in a tizzy as she struggled to make sense and spew water out of her lungs. Her insides burned and her body shivered, her hair plastered to her face and neck as it dripped excess fluids. "Ugh…" Blurry-eyed and disoriented, Angelique squinted in the torchlight, her eyes falling on a hooded figure. It was only for a moment – a second, really – but she saw it. Their eyes locked, and she could see everything. Her eyes widened as her mouth opened in fear, her hand clamping over her lips as so to contain the screech she wanted to release. Instead, a strangled gasp left her mouth as she scooted away, seeing the terrible Death Head that the girls had gossiped so much about.

His face was shadowed well by the hood of his cloak, which only served to make it appear even more terrifying. His skin was a yellowish hue, thin as parchment, and his lips were practically translucent, the outline his teeth visible even with his mouth closed. There was no nose – just a hole at the center of his face. The eyebrows were nonexistent, and there was a lose tendril of thinning black hair that fell in between his eyes…those eyes that burned, golden and red all at once, placed deep into two black sockets.

The moment she saw him, he reeled back, a cry of despair filling the air and echoing all around them. "No!" he wailed, covering his face in agony. "No, not again!"

"Erik, stop," the Daroga pleaded before reaching out to Angelique, who sat on the floor, frozen in shock. "Please, _mademoiselle_, remember what I told you-"

"So, you've been gossiping about me?!" Erik snapped, jumping to his feet and taking a menacing step towards the man. "Just what did you tell her, hmm?"

"Leave her be, it was an accident!" the Persian fought back, reaching for the Phantom.

He shoved the other aside, snarling as he stalked over to the girl and knelt down, grabbing her by her hair and pulling his cloak off before he picked up the fallen torch. "Well, have a good, long look, _mademoiselle_, for it will be the last thing you see!" he growled, holding the light up so that she could see his hideousness. She bit her lip, not wanting to cry out in front of him as he forcefully pulled her head by her hair so that she could stare at him. "Feast your eyes, glut your soul on my accursed ugliness!" he roared, sneering at her cruelly as he held her head up. "Those who see Erik's face must stay with Erik or _die_! It is your choice, Mademoiselle Archambault. Shall I throw you back into the lake, or would you like to spend the rest of your life with a corpse?"

Her body shook from fear and the cold, her scalp aching as he held her up, but she did not dare look away from his face. She was accustomed to such abuse, and she knew that it would be unwise to look away, no matter how frightened and tired she felt, or how horrifying the face was. "M-Miss Daae-"

"What?" he asked, his brows furrowing at her choice of words. "Speak up, girl!"

"Release her, or I shall shoot!" the Persian demanded, pulling a pistol from his coat.

Erik laughed at him contemptuously and grinned wickedly. "Oh yes, Daroga, please do. But you'll be killing _her_ as well." He released Angelique's hair only to slither his arm around her and hold her against his frame, standing up with her acting as his shield against the enemy. "Now, my dear, what was it you were saying just a moment ago?"

"Ch-Christine Daae," she coughed, leaning against him despite herself. She was still weak from nearly drowning, and having him hold her up appropriate was an improvement from nearly getting her scalp yanked off. "Y-You didn't hurt her…did you?"

"Hurt her, no. Erik would never harm Christine," his voice lowering just a bit, tenderness seeping into his tone. "You came here searching for her and now you are in rather hot water, my dear. Make your choice – you can die, or stay here, forever Erik's prisoner."

She shivered in his arms, the cold air biting into her skin while his voice tickled her ears. Cautiously, she turned her head, her eyes daring to move back towards his face. She felt her stomach twist as she saw him once more, his eyes still glowing in the torchlight. He stared at her for a moment, surprised that she even attempted to look at him, before frowning and nearing her face, making her squirm. "I'm waiting…"

"Erik, you cannot keep her!" the Daroga fought on, his eyes narrowing as he aimed the gun for Erik's head.

"Any woman who looks at Erik's face belongs to him!" he retorted. "You know the rules very well, Daroga! Either she can meet my lasso or-"

"I'll go," she said, her voice rough as she coughed again.

His head whipped back as he stared down at her. "What?"

"I'll go with you…but please, _monsieur_, don't hurt him," she pleaded, her eyes moving towards the Persian.

"Oh, how I should like to," the Opera Ghost glared at the opponent. "Rest assured, _mademoiselle_, no harm shall come to the dear Daroga if he takes his leave now."

"Mademoiselle Archambault-!" Daroga began.

"No, _monsieur_, please go. I'll be alright," she reassured him, allowing Erik to guide her to the rowboat. "Please, just go!"

The Persian remained still, finally lowering his arm as he watched Erik step into the little boat and offer his hand to the girl. "If any harm befalls either woman, Erik, I _shall_ hunt you down."

"I would not have it any other way, old friend," he answered tartly, waving his hand at him. "Now if you do not mind, Erik has important matters to attend to. _Au revoir_." Ignoring him now, he turned back to face the girl, who remained still and silent, standing patiently on the steps, waiting for him. With his feet firmly placed inside the boat, he pulled his hood up once more, suddenly aware that she was looking at him and not avoiding his gaze, as most people did once they saw him. He offered her his hands for support, half expecting her to cringe or jump into the lake once again. His eyes widened for an instant, however, as she reached out, her trembling fingers uncurling slowly, and placed her hands in his, gripping him tightly as she hopped inside, wobbling once on board.

"Sit down," he ordered her, his voice still commanding yet gentler in tone.

She gratefully followed his instructions, glancing behind one last time to see the Persian still standing several yards away. Casting him a weak smile, she waved at him before facing forward, setting her sights on the massive structure that loomed on the other side of the lake.

Grabbing the oars, Erik began to row, glaring back at the passage. The Daroga had vanished from sight, but he was certain he would be back soon. Facing forward again, he kept his face hidden as best as he could, eager to get back and cover it with another mask. His eyes drifted back to his hostage, however, and he instantly took in every detail about her as she turned back. Facing him, she bowed her head and hugged her knees, shivering from the cold. He could hear her teeth chattering, causing him to reach for his cloak when he stopped. A frown grew on his lips as he remembered that it was she who made him lose his mask. Stubborn, he bit his tongue and hissed, refusing to give up the only cover he had for his face. "Just a bit more, Miss Archambault."

She raised her eyes at him before glancing at the dark waters that surrounded them. "…you've been watching me, _monsieur_."

He continued to row, his eyes moving back to her. "_Oui_. I make it a point to know all that happens in my opera house." He paused a moment, watching her eyes move back onto him. "…such as receiving a rose in my private box."

A gasp left her mouth as she remembered the events of that very afternoon, her body stiffening at the mention of the flower. She hadn't thought it was real at the time…she didn't know what to expect…now she knew, she knew all too well…he was very real, and he had been watching her since she entered the theater. "…oh," she said softly. "…I didn't mean to offend-"

"You didn't," he cut her off, looking away at once. "It was very thoughtful of you to leave it for Erik."

She raised her eyebrow at this, curiosity filling her. "…_pardon, monsieur_, but you call yourself in the third person."

"Yes, and?" he asked coldly, still looking away from her.

She blinked at him, shaking her head. "Never mind."

They continued on in silence, the only sounds filling the air being the gentle lap of the water and the constant sloshing of the oars. Striving to sit up straight, Angelique held her head up but continued to hug herself in an effort to stay warm. She could see from the corner of her eye that Erik pushed himself to get to the other side as quickly as possible. _"He's so tall and thin…and yet, he's so strong. He was giving the Persian a difficult time when they were fighting…and when he rescued…"_ The sudden realization hit her hard, causing her to reach up and touch her cheek. "Oh…"

"Is there a problem?" he asked coolly.

"Thank you."

His eyes darted back to her, one eyebrow raising in shock. "_Pardon_?"

"Thank you, monsieur, for saving me," she said a little louder, her eyes moving back to him.

His cloaked head swiveled away as he felt her stormy-hued eyes lay upon his being, his fingers gripping the handles so tightly that his knuckles when white. "You cannot swim, I presume?"

She shook her head, her tangled locks falling over her face.

"…you're welcome." He felt his eyes widen as she gave a small smile, tucking her hair away from her face. Frowning, he glared at her. "Do you not comprehend your situation? You are to be Erik's prisoner for all time! You have seen my face, child. It is not a memory that anyone wishes to look upon fondly."

"Perhaps not," she shrugged, rubbing her arms. "But as I cannot change the situation, I shall have to make the most of it."

The oars paused in midair as he gaped at her, causing her to stare back in confusion.

"…have I said something wrong?" she asked calmly.

He blinked once more at her, shook his head, and continued to row. "You are a most perplexing young woman, _mademoiselle_."

"_Merci_," she answered back, a hint of sarcasm dripping from her voice.

Within a few moments, the boat bumped against the small dock formed just outside of the house on the other side of the lake. Setting the instruments down, Erik rose to his feet and gracefully stepped out, adjusting the cloak around his face once more before turning back and offering his hand to his new guest. "My apologies, _mademoiselle_. Erik was not expecting company other than Miss Daae, therefore Erik did not bring gloves."

"Gloves? Whatever for?" she asked, standing precariously in the dinghy.

"So that you may not have to touch Erik," he said coldly, his rich voice lowering an octave as self-loathing washed over him. The feel of a small, slightly roughened hand startled him as its fingers curled around his own, their warmth unfamiliar and yet welcoming.

"As far as I am concerned, _monsieur_, there is no need for gloves between us," she answered honestly, gripping onto him once again as she stepped out and onto solid ground once more.

He slipped his hand out of hers at once, not wanting to push his luck, and motioned for her to follow after him. "This way."

Tentatively, she traced his steps, entering the house after him. Her eyes widened at the sight of a beautiful parlor, covered in expensive rugs and set with the finest settees and chairs, vases of glorious flowers placed all over the room. "Heavens," she whispered, gazing at the beautifully delicate gas lamps that lit the room. "It's beautiful…!"

"_Merci_," he said gruffly, moving towards another door. "Erik strives to create perfection in all he creates."

"This is the most wonderful room I've ever seen," she said softly, remaining where she stood. The room truly was perfect…so perfect that she didn't want to destroy it. She was still sopping wet, and she was petrified to even touch anything for fear that it might break.

"Your room is just down the hall," he informed her, stepping into a different room, vanishing for a moment, and emerging once again with a new mask covering his face.

"M-My room?" she asked, stunned by the news.

"Where did you think you would be staying?" he asked curtly, leading the way. "Come."

Timidly, she trailed after him, remaining a few steps away from him as he moved swiftly down the halls of his home. Turning to his right, he turned the knob and pushed the door open. "You will stay here, Miss Archambault," he informed her, motioning with his hand for her to enter.

Cautiously, she stepped inside, her jaw dropping at the beautiful décor. Candelabra lit the room, a polished Louis Philippe wardrobe sitting comfortably in the corner while a vanity rested across the room from it. The bed was massive and lush, coated in satin and linen. The carpet was a royal shade of wine, the walls a simple hue of crème. "This can't be…" she murmured.

"If it is not to your liking, you may ask Miss Daae to switch with you," he growled, only to be stunned by the sparkle in her eyes.

"_Non, monsieur_, I mean that I can't possibly stay in such a fine room," she shook her head. "I'm a seamstress, not a princess. This room is simply wonderful!"

Unaccustomed to compliments, he took a few moments to absorb what she had said before clearing his throat and straightening his posture. "It is yours, mademoiselle. Erik is very glad you have taken a liking to it. There is a washroom that is meant only for this room that is available through that door…now, I must ask you a favor."

"A favor?" she asked, facing him completely now.

"Yes…Erik is…concerned," he said, nearly stammering as he linked his hands together.

"Concerned?"

"Christine has seen Erik's face, and she…well, she has accepted her fate, but Erik still worries for her," he confessed, fidgeting with the clasp of the cloak. "It would be good for her to have a companion. Erik is certain she is frightened. As you are…taking things rather well, would you visit Christine and speak with her?"

"I'll certainly try, if she lets me in, that is," she nodded.

"Thank you," he said, nodding back to her. "Her room is this way." Guiding her back down the hall to one of the first rooms, he knocked on the door and waited. "Christine?" he called out to her, his voice filled with pleading and tenderness. "Christine, you have a visitor."

Angelique listened, hearing subdued crying from within the room. The sound of slow, hesitant footsteps became clearer as they neared the door, the thick plank of wood creaking open before them.

"Who…is it?" sniffled the poor girl, her sea-colored eyes filled with salty tears. Her eyes rested on Angelique's form, her face lighting up. "Oh! Angelique?! Is that really you?!"

"Hello, Christine," Angelique smiled kindly. "May I come in?" She glanced over at Erik, who began to walk away at once, leaving them alone.

"Angelique!" exclaimed the singer, dragging her into the room and locking the door at once. Falling to her knees, she wept, gripping onto the newcomer's dress. "Oh, Angelique, it's just awful! I'm trapped here! I shall never be able to go out again!"

"Christine," the seamstress cooed comfortingly, placing her hands on the girl's shoulders and gently forcing her up. "Come, Christine, let's go to the bed." Assisting the blonde woman, she brought her to the bedside and began to sit when she realized she was still soaked. "I'll just stand," she said, doing so before Christine.

"What in Heaven's name happened to you?!" Christine asked, finally taking in the form of the bedraggled young woman.

"I came after you to try and figure out where you disappeared to, and I found myself in the cellars of the _Garnier_," Angelique explained. "I met up with a friend-"

"In the catacombs?!"

"Well, yes. He was actually looking for our resident Opera Ghost. Anyways, there was a whole fiasco and I fell into the lake, but Erik pulled me out, and I saw his face-"

"No!" she gasped in horror, gaping at Angelique. "Tell me it's not true!"

"I'm afraid it is," she answered with a nod. "I was told I had to stay here-"

"Oh Angelique, I'm so sorry! This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't come searching for me!" wailed Christine, covering her face once more.

Patting her head, Angelique shook her head. "Really, Christine, there's no need for this-"

"How can you say that after everything that's happened?!" she demanded, raising her bloodshot eyes to her new companion. "Erik won't let us leave, and he's tricked me!"

Angelique let the girl hug her, running her fingers through her friend's hair. "He lied and said he was the Angel, didn't he?"

"Yes…yes, he did," she wept, burying her face into the tattered, wet skirts. "He took me through the mirror in my dressing room, and I fainted when I realized he was no angel, but a man. He took me on Cesar, the missing horse from the _Profeta_, and into a boat, and before I knew it, I awoke in this lovely room. He tried to talk to me so I might calm down, but I demanded to know who he was and where we were. I was so furious that when he turned away, I snatched his mask off and…and…oh, the horror!"

Angelique petted the girl's head, her eyes scanning the room. It was just as pretty, if not prettier, than hers. This Erik was truly a genius, as the Persian had told her, for tricking Christine and sneaking her away when no one suspected it. He was obviously a gentleman, as he admired and desired the finer things in life, and struggled to make everything within his power perfect, as he had told her…so long as they did not touch the mask or anger him, he would be civil. "It's all right, Christine…we shall be all right." _"I hope."_ She was not frightened of the man, though his face did put her through a shock. She would survive here, and she would help Christine, but the last thing she wanted was to be trapped against her will once again. Somehow, she had to find a way to win back their freedom…


	7. The Harm Done

**Chapter Seven - The Harm Done**

It was a tireless night – she had barely slept a wink. Christine begged Angelique to stay with her in the room for fear of being alone, to which Angelique surrendered. She sat on the lounge, humming lullabies until the girl finally fell asleep. However, that did not make it any easier for Angelique to earn any rest. She was frantic despite her cool exterior, wondering about the Daroga, Madame Giry and the girls, and fearful that the de Chagnys would figure out where they were and search them out. The last thing she wanted was to get this volatile man infuriated – he was ready to kill at a moment's notice, of that she was quite certain.

After several hours of restlessness, constantly drifting off and nodding in and out of sleep, she finally forced herself up and went for the door. Checking the hallway and satisfied that there was no one around, she quickly scribbled a note on Christine's vanity, only to find another already in place. The writer had used red ink and scratched a hasty message, saying that he would gather her belongings for her stay.

"Erik," she murmured, letting her fingers run over the parchment. "He must have came in when I dozed off…" Placing her note with his, she exited the room and shut the door before running into hers, giving a sigh of relief. Walking to the wardrobe, she was surprised to find a simple spare gown hanging inside. Grateful for the tiny convenience, she hurried to the bathing room and started a bath. Peeling her clothes off of her body, she made a face as she realized how stiff her dress was, and the smell it had acquired from being soaked and worn overnight. Tossing the rags aside, she slide into the tub and gave a sigh of relief. Running her fingers over the warm water lazily, she reveled in the feel of the delicious warmth and the fragrance of the soaps at her disposal. She couldn't remember the last time she had been able to enjoy herself, let alone bathe.

Once she had cleansed herself, she got dressed and combed through her matted locks, wincing as she fought through the knots. At long last, she ran her fingers through her hair, a smile appearing on her face as she began to braid it. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she exited the room and checked on Christine once again. Seeing that she was still sleeping, she left her to rest, exploring her new surroundings.

Entering the parlor, she looked at each door, contemplating which one could possibly lead to the kitchen. "Does he even have a kitchen?" she mumbled, reaching for the closest door available. Turning the knob, she poked her head into the room, her brows furrowing as she squinted in the darkness. "What on earth…?"

The room was encased in shadows, with only a lonely candelabra to light it up. To the far corner of the room was a rather grand organ, covered in papers that overflowed to the floor. The wall to her right was covered in a variety of masks, a small wardrobe separating the set of unique faces that Erik undoubtedly wore on numerous occasions. Closest to the door was a desk, also covered with papers that had been written on in red ink. Numerous plumes and quills were in place, along with an ink urn and stacks of melted, burnt to the core. To the left of the door was a stand where a violin had been placed, several stacks of music also gathered upon it. Casting her eyes to the farthest reach of the room, she squinted and took a step inside, unable to believe what she thought she had seen. Her eyes widened at the sight – a coffin. An actual coffin was placed in the room, the lid open to show the satin lining, the exterior glossy in the dim light.

Covering her mouth in shock, she took a step back, her back bumping against someone. A yelp of surprise flew out of her mouth as she spun around and found herself staring up at her masked captor.

"Did you enjoy taking a sneak peak of Erik's home?" he glared down at her accusingly, his pleasant tone of voice only adding to make the situation even more embarrassing than it already was.

"_Monsieur_, I'm so sorry-!" she began, placing her hand over her heart.

"Oh, no, please. Continue looking about. It is a fascinating room, is it not?" he spoke, a smirk visible through his voice. She stood before him, staring into his eyes, suddenly making him uncomfortable. "Why do you stare at Erik like that-?"

"_Pardon_, _Monsieur le Fantome_, but it is extremely difficult to see just what you are thinking with only your eyes showing. To be fair, however, they do say a lot," she commented.

He blinked at her, stunned. "…what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if you wish to cover your face, that is your choice. However, perhaps you wear a mask that gives you a bit more freedom to actually show what you are feeling-"

He gave a violent, harsh laugh, making her jump. "You wish for Erik to actually _show_ some of his face?" he sneered at her.

"Ah…_oui_," she nodded slowly, remaining upright in her stance. "…it was just a thought." Her voice lowered a smidge, earning his attention as it happened. "Please forgive me, _monsieur_. I was trying to find the kitchen."

"Kitchen?" he echoed.

"I'm not sure what hour it is, but I thought I could make breakfast," she explained humbly, self-consciously reaching for her braid and twirling it between her fingers. She could feel his eyes on her as she avoided his gaze, causing her to grip her braid anxiously. She didn't like not being able to see what people were thinking or feeling…it was how she had managed to survive thus far.

"…the kitchen is through that door," he pointed, one long finger elongated from his palm to show her the way. "Also, it's a little past eight thirty in the morning."

She lifted her head, her line of sight reaching the mask. "How did you-?"

"Erik has a pocket watch," he informed her, pulling it out and showing her. It was a lovely trinket, crafted in gold with delicate engravings and embellishments, ticking merrily.

"Oh…thank you," she said, a smile appearing on her lips. "I…I truly am very sorry about entering your room. Please excuse me."

Erik watched her scoot past him, his hand unconsciously moving to reach out and touch her shoulder. He stopped himself in time, opening his mouth from behind his mask and saying, "Erik has just returned from the Opera House…he brought some of Christine's belongings, but…Erik is afraid he didn't find anything of yours…with the exception of your basket. Erik did manage to bring that."

Her eyes lit up at the mention of the little, hole-filled basket, making his stomach flop. "Merci. That's really all I have."

"Yes, Erik remembers. You came in with that basket and a cloak in dire need of repair," he noted, watching her cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Ah…Erik is sorry-"

"It's quite all right," she shook her head with a meek smile. "To be honest, I hadn't a single thought about its state, nor the time to fix it. Perhaps I'll have time to do so now." Curtsying to him, she began to turn away once more, until he called out again, surprising her.

"Did you mean it?" he asked, his voice somewhat strained as he managed to string the sentence together.

"Mean what?" she asked, facing him once more.

"…wearing a different mask?"

The corners of her mouth twitched upward, her eyes showing no signs of deceit or treachery – only kindness and warmth. "I think it would be better for everyone. You would have more freedom for your face, and something much more comfortable to wear, and Christine and I can actually make out whether you are happy or upset."

"It would be better off for everyone if this face did not exist," he scowled beneath his hiding place. "Christine would not wish to see anything about my face after…after last night." He placed one hand on his forehead woefully, shaking his head sadly and heaving a deep sigh. "…but you ask that Erik change his mask, despite seeing him…why?"

"I gave you my reasons," she shrugged, tugging at her braid before releasing it and interlocking her fingers together. "…and…and it pains me."

He stared, not blinking for an instant at her.

"…please don't do that," she pleaded, biting her lip as she fought not to squirm under his watch. "It pains me, monsieur, that your face be the reason why your talents go unappreciated. I cannot lie, and I hope you can forgive me, your face is…frightening." He grunted at the comment but didn't move, his eyes boring holes into a nearby chair. "But that you should suffer alone because of it and not have someone to turn to…it pains me. I'm certain I have not endured the suffering you have gone through, but I know what it is like to be…abandoned…abused…" Her voice stopped suddenly, choking momentarily as her eyes began to sting with water. Hastily, she wiped her tears away and bowed her head so that he might not see her state. "Excuse me," she whispered, running away at once for the kitchen and shutting the door after her.

Erik watched her, a sudden wave of conflicting emotions hitting him with great force. Turning his face, his eyes fell on the wall of masks, his attention drawn to one in particular that he seldom wore. "What plagues that child?" he murmured, an onslaught of questions assaulting him. Entering his darkened solitude, he reached out and let his bony fingers grasp the edge of the mask. "…perhaps…"

**~OG~**

She was just beginning to pull out the napkins when the door opened. "Good morning, Christine," she smiled politely, moving back to check on the eggs and bacon.

"Good…morning?" she said, the phrase sounding more like a question than and answer. "Oh, my! Did you make all this?"

"Yes," she answered quickly, dicing several fruits before sliding them into a bowl and moving on to remove the meat and eggs from the pan. "I've also made tea. I wasn't sure what everyone would want to eat."

"Wait, 'everyone'?" Christine asked, cocking her head as she let the words wash over her.

"Yes. You, me, and Monsieur Opera Ghost," Angelique nodded, placing the used utensils into the sink.

Christine paled at these words, staring at Angelique as if she had two heads.

"Won't you have a seat in the dining room?" Angelique insisted, motioning towards the chair. Raising her eyes towards the farthest corner of the room where the door to the dining room remained, she added, "_Both_ of you?"

At the mention of the word "both", Christine slowly turned and stared at the corner, her eyes catching sight of an outline. A petrified gasp escaped her mouth as she curled her hands into fists, fighting the urge to screech. Looking away quickly, she gathered her courage and walked quickly, hoping not to converse with her jailor.

Erik said nothing as he watched Christine rush past him, following her at a distance before taking his seat at the head of the table. It had already been set for the most part, with only the food, beverages, and napkins missing. That was soon remedied as Angelique stepped out with the tea tray and placed their napkins in the proper places.

Pouring each member their tea, her attention was suddenly drawn to the Opera Ghost's face. "Oh! You changed it!" she exclaimed, a smile brightening her face. "It's much better, if you don't mind me saying."

His hand immediately went for his mask, his eyes widening at her words. It was a simple white mask, covering everything except his mouth and chin, the start of his hairline now visible as well. He had changed into a clean suit before the meal, as well as the mask, and had not expected such a response from either young woman. "…you think so?"

"Very much," she nodded politely. "It suits you."

"…thank you." He clamped his mouth shut afterwards, seeing how Christine's eyes became large with shock as she looked to and from him and Angelique. He could read her thoughts as though they were an open book: "How could she encourage him to wear something that shows more of his face?! Is she mad?" At this point, he was beginning to wonder whether or not there truly was something wrong with her.

"I'll be back in a moment," she promised, stepping back into the kitchen, leaving Erik and Christine alone.

They avoided their gazes for what felt like years, neither of them touching their tea. Cautiously, Erik raised his eyes and said, "…did you sleep well, Christine?"

She winced at the sound of his voice, making his stomach twist in a knot. Forcefully, she glanced at him and gave a curt nod before staring down at her empty plate.

"Is there anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable?" he asked, his hand rising to cover his mouth as he spoke. It felt strange not having his whole face covered – he almost felt naked without his other mask.

She bit her lip and gave a slight shake of her head, refusing to utter a single word to him.

At long last, Angelique entered the room once again, placing their food before them. Taking her seat, she bowed her head and silently said a prayer before looking up at the two silent companions. "I take it you haven't shared a word since I left?" She noticed how Christine struggled not to fidget in her seat while Erik appeared to cover his mouth in the hopes of not offending or frightening Christine. "…this is going to be harder than I thought."

"Just what exactly _did_ you have in mind, Miss Archambault?" Erik frowned, his hand lowering as he turned his attention to her.

"I simply thought that we all might be able to sit down and talk, like civilized people," she suggested coolly. "Christine, you're acting like a child. We can't leave here, so there's no point in crying about what we can't change-"

"But I don't _want_ to be here!" she burst out, covering her mouth instantly.

"Please, Christine," Erik pleaded, reaching out to her. "You can have anything you like-"

"All I want is to leave!" she cried, recoiling from him at once. "You lie to me, you kidnap me, and then you force me to stay!"

"You saw my face, I had no choice," he growled, his patience wearing thin. "I told you not to touch the mask!"

"You shouldn't have tricked me," she retorted back, tears spilling from her eyes. "You-…you _monster_!"

"How dare you?!" he roared, rising above them menacingly, his eyes burning as he glared at her.

Leaping from her seat, Angelique ran over and placed herself between them. "That's enough!" she snapped harshly, stunning both parties. "If you're going to act like children, then perhaps I should treat you as such!"

"Impudent girl!" Erik snarled.

"Angelique, how could you?!" Christine cried.

"_Enough_!" she shouted, silencing them both. Grabbing Christine's plate, she took the girl by the arm and led her away, her brows furrowed in frustration as she did so. Opening the door, she placed the meal on the vanity and turned on her heel.

"Where are you going?" Christine asked, fear filling her once again as the girl started to leave.

"I need to clean up that mess in the kitchen," she answered curtly. "Shut the door after me, won't you?"

"Angelique, how can you be so calm and friendly towards him?! He's keeping us prisoner!" she demanded, her eyes filled with fresh tears. "I thought you were my friend-"

"I _am_," she insisted, pressing her fingers to her temples. Inhaling deeply, she held her breath and took a moment to cool down before sighing and answering, "Believe me, Christine, I know what it is like to be a prisoner…this is nothing compared to what I've been through. Give him time, and perhaps he will let us go." Having said far too much, she excused herself once again and left for the dining room, leaving Christine to ponder about what she had said.

Shaking her head in discouragement, Angelique opened the door and found Erik slumped in his chair, his head bowed in defeat. "_Monsieur_…?"

"It's hopeless," he moaned. "She knows how Erik's face looks…she could never love him! He truly is a monster."

Releasing yet another sigh, she walked to his side and, after a moment's hesitation, touched his shoulder comfortingly. His head automatically jerked towards her, his eyes glued on her hand before moving to her face, his lips parted in shock and awe.

"She's only just arrived and it's quite a bit to swallow, _monsieur_. I am certain that she will forgive you…however, she does have a point." Her brows began to knit together as she realized he was still staring at her, his body stiff. Seeing her hand on his shoulder, she quickly removed it and clasped her hands behind her back. Clearing her throat, she repeated, "She _does_ have a point. Holding her here against her will won't remedy the situation."

"What are you saying?" he asked, his brows furrowing from under his mask, his voice lowering.

Standing firm, she looked him in the eye and stated, "I am saying, monsieur that holding her captive is wrong. Surely, you can trust her to keep your secret-"

"You don't understand anything, child," he snapped, rising once more to his full height and towering over her, his shadow filling up the room. He reminded her of a snake – tall, thin, imposing, with hypnotic eyes that she found she could not look away from, his voice alluring, even when he was furious. "If Erik lets her go, she shall never return! Erik will never see her again-!"

"But doesn't her happiness mean anything to you?!" she argued, startling him as she took a step forward and fought to reason with him. "If you truly love her as you claim you do, let her go, and perhaps your efforts will be rewarded-"

"Ah, but there is that key word, my dear. 'Perhaps'." His lips curled into a dark smile, a chuckle escaping him as he shook his head. "No…it is best to keep her here, and she will come to love Erik little by little."

"Don't you see that you're hurting her and yourself?!" she stomped her foot, absolutely frustrated with his thoughts and actions. "You are perhaps the most stubborn, careless man I've ever met-!"

"**_Silence_**!" he boomed, sending her reeling back several steps. He glared down at her as she gawked back at him, his temper already on fire. "Erik does not take orders from anyone…much less a girl who knows nothing about him, nothing about what he has suffered…go and be a good maid now, clean the kitchen, throw away this swill!" His eyes narrowed at her as he took another step towards her, adding with a harsh smile, "Scrub the floors if you are so concerned about keeping the place tidy, girl-"

Her hands were upon him in second, sending him back with a powerful shove. He wobbled, stunned by the action, and opened his mouth to berate her yet again when he saw something he had never seen since she had entered the _Palais Garnier_ – tears. True, she wept when she first came in and fell asleep, but these were tears he was extremely familiar with – hurt, suffering, pain, humiliation, scars, and anger.

"Don't you _dare_ talk to me like that," Angelique said hotly, her voice trembling as large droplets broke free and stained her face. "I will _not_ be a slave _again_ – I _won't_!" Covering her face, she bolted out of the room like a madwoman, uncontrollable sobs filling the air, fading out once she slammed the door to her room.

Erik remained perfectly still, his mind spinning from confusion and shock at her reaction. "…Erik…has made Angelique cry…and not from his face…" A hot, terrible wave washed over him from within, a feeling he was rather unused to – shame. He was ashamed of his face, of course, but he had never felt shame for anything he did or said to anyone, not even tricking Christine into thinking he was the angel her father promise. Yet, here it was, sliding throughout his veins as he realized that something terrible had happened to her, something that hurt her so much that even she, so firm and unyielding, so supportive to both him and Christine, had broken and actually wept. She wept, not from his face, but from his words. Reaching up, he touched his face, his fingertips landing upon his exposed lips. "Perhaps…Erik is a different form of monster," he whispered, his gaze wandering towards the door, his mind on the auburn-haired seamstress whose stormy eyes now shed her own sad, salty rain.


	8. Breaking Through

**Chapter Eight - Breaking Through**

Checking on happenings in his opera house always helped Erik clear his mind when he was in troubled or irritated. He locked the door to his home before leaving and made his way through the lake and up the secret passages until he arrived at the opera. Remaining in the shadows, he slunk through the corridors until he found the hidden door he desired. Pressing a button, he slipped inside once more, casting a glance at the outside before shutting the door from within. Pulling the rim of his wide-brimmed fedora over his masked face, he walked calmly towards the managers' office, a new note in his hand waiting to be delivered.

Coming to the secret trapdoor in the office, he listened for a moment before pushing it open, his eyes scanning the area. There was no one at home for the moment, a perfect chance to reach up and place his letter on the desk where they would see it. Shutting the door over his head, he tightened the clasp on his midnight cloak before stepping away towards the halls that would take him to the front of the opera. It was strange that the managers were not in their room that morning, and he was curious to see just where they were.

Even before he found his perch – a nifty and clever hiding space behind a curtain at the top of stairway in the grand foyer – he could hear heated conversation, instantly earning his attention. Slipping into position, he inclined his head and peeped over the side, catching a glance at who could possibly be there at this hour.

"_Madame_, I assure you, if we knew where your daughter was, we would tell you-" Monsieur Moncharmin reassured their early clients, though there was an underlying tone that gave off the impression that he did not wish to share such information with the stranger. Both he and Madame Giry stood their ground as they spoke with the three visitors, none of which looked pleasant.

"_Step_-daughter, _monsieur_," a woman sneered as she corrected him. "She is an ungrateful little wretch who has up and left, running away from home and leaving us in a panic."

"_They certainly do not look panicked,"_ Erik noted with a frown as he took in the other members of the party.

The woman in charge was a tall, thin character, with a sharp angled face and piercing green eyes. Her dark brown hair was streaked with grey, wrapped into an elegant bun atop her head. She wore a long black dress, embellished with fine embroidery and appearing to have been made out of one piece of fine fabric. With this woman were two others – most likely her children. The first was a man, about thirty years of age, just as tall and intimidating as his mother. His bright red hair was combed back, leaving his green eyes free to glare down as his mouth permanently scowled at the manager and box keeper, an obnoxious cleft in his chin adding to his pompous nature. The girl with them was the shortest of the group, but she made up for it with her haughty nature. She couldn't have been much older than Angelique and Christine, her brown eyes almost appearing to be black, her nose turned up disdainfully at the commoners. Her brown hair hung in ringlets around her face as she violently curled and tugged one on a long, thin finger. Both children wore fine clothes also, with beautiful accents and embellishments.

"Angelique is a horrid child, ungrateful and spoiled," sniffed the woman. "She doesn't deserve to have our concern, but it would break my dearly departed husband's heart of I didn't go looking for her."

"_Angelique?!"_ Erik's eyes widened at the mention of the girl. _This_ was her family?

"We saw the girl pass through one night," Madame Giry answered hotly. "She slept on the steps and we had to shoo her away in the morning. Had we known she was of your family, Madame Acharmbault-Lenoir, we would have asked her to come in. To be perfectly frank, with the attire she wore, we mistook her as a street urchin."

The two women exchanged harsh glances, neither one happy to be in the company of the other. "I see… you have no idea where she could possibly be?"

"None, I'm afraid," Moncharmin said politely, shaking his head. "Perhaps you should check in town."

With another contemptuous glare at Giry, the woman curtly bid them good day and excused herself, stepping out into the street with her children in tow. Keeping a close eye on them, Erik began to move away when he heard Giry whisper, "What an awful woman! And she calls herself a mother."

"Now, now, Madame, remain calm," Moncharmin reasoned with her, walking up the steps of the grand staircase with the reinstated concierge. "She cannot find Mademoiselle Archambault if we do not know where she is… and we truly have no idea where she has gone." He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "With all the madness that went on last night, we hadn't noticed she had gone missing until _Comte de Chagny_ came in this morning asking for her."

A dark tremor flowed through Erik as he heard the news of the Comte. He was beginning to despise him as much as that bratty little brother of his. Why was he so interested in Angelique, anyway?

"She will turn up, of that much I am certain," Jules Giry stated stubbornly. "I know she shall…"

Waiting until they were out of sight, Erik moved swiftly, not wanting to lose sight of the step-family searching for the new seamstress. Slipping through the hidden corridors and passages, Erik stalked his way through until he arrived at the west wall, lifting the slot of a grate before squinting out and taking a look around, finally catching sight of three pairs of feet.

"I am going to skin that girl when I finally find her," Madame Archambault-Lenoir hissed, cussing Erik's blood to curdle in disgust of the woman.

"We shan't feed her either, shall we, Maman?" the girl asked with a cruel giggle.

"No, Helen, we shan't," she cooed, clearly coddling her daughter. She sighed soon after, turning to face her son. "Yes Maurice, you may do with her what you like, but don't damage her too much, she still has to be able to stand and work."

"Of course, Mother," the man chuckled, his laugh rough and dark. "I shan't hurt her too badly."

"Good boy," she said sweetly. "Now, let's see if we can find the little wench in-"

"**_Hell."_**

The three figures froze at the sound of his voice. Erik grinned wickedly, enjoying their fear as he deepened his voice just a smidge and cast if off to sound as if it came from below their feet. **_"I shall carry thee all to Hell…"_** he hissed, wishing he could see their faces.

"M-Maman…?" Helen whimpered, ready to faint at once.

"Who is there?!" demanded Lady Archambault-Lenoir, shaken to the core by the horrific voice that seeped from below the ground.

"**_Do not return to the opera again, lest you wish to meet Angelique in Hell, where she is mine…FOREVER!"_** He cackled manically, struggling not to laugh as the women screamed – even the young man, Maurice, wailed like a child, before they ran off, quaking in their shoes. Pulling away from the grate once they had vanished, she covered his mouth in an effort to suppress his laughter, rather pleased with himself for scaring them away. "If that does not keep them away, Erik does not know what shall." Adjusting his hat over his head, he placed the slab back in its spot as a notion popped into his brain. Pursing his lips in contemplation, he came to a decision at last and took off down the passage, in dire need of francs, paper, and his special ink.

**~OG~**

Rounding the corner, Madame Giry glanced over her shoulder before stepping into Box Five. She was extremely grateful and pleased that she had been reinstated into her old position – no doubt influenced by the Opera Ghost and his mayhem caused the night before – but she was also very away of the managers' alertness and suspicion of her. The last thing she wanted was to get in trouble again, but she would not abandon the one who promised her daughter a bright future.

Standing at the center of the box, she waited, knowing that by this time, having completed her rounds, he would want to speak with her. Her eyes wandered to the seats, however, and her eyes lit up at the sight of a little box of English sweets placed upon a slip of paper, a little sack beside it on one of the chairs.

"Madame Giry," the familiar voice of the Ghost spoke, flowing all around her. "I am most delighted to see you have returned."

"As am I," she agreed, bobbing her head politely to the chair, though she really had no idea as to the source of the voice. "I understand it is thanks to you, _monsieur_."

"Partially," he answered vaguely. "I have a little welcoming gift, _Madame_, on the chair for you."

"You are too kind," she blushed, though she refrained from reaching out. There was more to be discussed, she knew, and she did not want to appear greedy to the invisible patron.

"And you are flattering. Now, Madame, I have an important matter to discuss – that paper on the seat, and the money with it, are for you to do some errands for me."

"Of course," she said, puffing out her chest just a bit, proud to be doing such work for the great Phantom. "May I see the list?"

"Please do," he answered. The voice paused for a moment, waiting for her to open the paper and read its contents. "Can you gather these items by suppertime?"

She read the paper, blinked, then reread it again. "…_oui_, I can…you have a lady, _monsieur_?"

"That is none of your concern," he said coldly.

"Forgive me, but I believe it is," she frowned. "I take it this young lady is either Christine Daae or Angelique Archambault. If it is the latter, I am quite concerned for her. I found the poor girl freezing in the cold and helped her get a job. She had nothing, and now there is a terrible woman searching for her, claiming that she is her step-mother. I may not know Angelique all that well, and she may not be my own daughter, but I worry for the child. She was kind to my daughter and the other girls, and works hard to help and please others, therefore, I find that she is indeed my concern."

There was a heavy silence that hung over her in the air, causing her to grip her shawl tightly, worried that she had offended the ghost. At long last, she heard a sigh.

"You need not worry, Madame Giry. She is safe under my protection – however, she does need clothes and other feminine items, and I would be most thankful if you would collect them today."

"Ah! I see," she nodded, a smile growing on her face. "Very well. I do hope she returns soon – we are in dire need of the new costumes."

"You shall have your new costumes, I shall see to it," he answered coolly. "Now go, Madame. Leave the materials here in the box and I shall collect them. You shall receive payment for your troubles."

"If it's for dear Angelique, it's unnecessary, _monsieur_, but I thank you all the same," she shook her head. Curtsying, she gathered the three items and left Box Five at once, mumbling to herself on what she should do once she arrived at the market.

Satisfied, Erik departed from his hiding place, moving quickly towards his next destination. He crossed nimbly through the rafters above the stage and swung down into the hall, checking over his shoulder every so often for any unwanted viewers. Stepping towards the repair's room, he stopped, hearing voices from within. Thinking fast, he slid behind one of the props – a castle for _Romeo and Juliet_ – and peered through the tiny hole of a window to see who was in the room.

The door swung open and two men stepped out, both equally agitated for very different reasons. "Are you quite satisfied, _Comte_? I've already told you that Mademoiselle Archambault is nowhere to be found," Firmin Richard repeated, exasperated that the man was so determined to find her. "We have not seen her since last night!"

"There must be some clue as to her whereabouts!" Philippe insisted, his brows furrowed in frustration. "People do not just up and vanish!"

"Tell that to Archambault and Daae," the manager muttered.

"I tell you, Monsieur Richard, she must be here somewhere!"

"If you find her, please tell her to get back to work – we need those costumes fixed at once!"

Erik bit his tongue as he watched them depart, still bickering all the while. Glaring malevolently at them, he sneered before stalking out and into the room. Setting to work, he caught sight of the stack of sketches Angelique had begun as inventory of the outfits, as well as the catalog Moncharmin had given to her. Gathering these, he selected a variety of simple outfits before searching the walls for a loose nail. Grasping the item, he shoved it into place, watching the planks of wood shift away, leading to another hidden passage. Setting the items into the hall, he languidly walked back to the workbench and checked the materials available, selecting what he deemed to be appropriate for the current costumes he was able to gather.

"Check in here again, Meg!" little Jammes's voice drifted in, causing him to jump. Whirling around, he could see their shadows in the hall through the crack from the door. Working fast, he snatched two more bolts of cloth before jumping into the opening and shutting it from within. Tossing the materials aside, he placed his hand over his heart and gave a sigh of relief, growling as he heard the girls enter.

"I told you we wouldn't find anything," he heard Meg grumble, when Jammes gasped in shock.

"Look! Her pictures are gone!"

"They were sketches, actually-"

"And the catalog, and look! Those shelves are empty! They were full of cloth this morning!"

Meg gasped, acknowledging her friend's discovery. "Heavens, so they are!"

"It's the Phantom!" squealed Jammes, causing Erik to roll his eyes at them. "Quick! We need to find Sorelli!"

"What's she going to do about it?" Meg asked.

"Nothing, obviously, but we have to tell someone!"

Erik chuckled as he listened to them scurry out, looking down at the items he had collected. "_Mon Dieu_…that was close."

**~OG~**

Angelique's eyelids fluttered open slowly, reluctant to obey her brain's command. Groaning, she raised her hand to her face and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

Since running away from Erik, she had locked herself in her room and cried herself to sleep, waking nearly an hour later to Christine knocking on her door. The two were alone and remained together in Angelique's room, speaking softly for fear that the Opera Ghost might pop in when they least expected.

"What happened earlier? I heard you both raising your voices and then you were crying and slammed the door," Christine asked, perplexed by all the drama she had missed.

"Oh, our tempers got the better of us and I got frustrated," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Her heart still stung from the insults he had tossed at her, and she knew that when he came back, he might not be so kind or merciful to her confrontations against him.

The girls shared a quiet lunch before splitting off once more. Christine locked herself in the bathroom while Angelique locked her door and pulled out a single item from her basket that Erik had left in her room. Her fingers traced the curves of the frame while she stared at the portrait within, her eyes watering unconsciously as she remembered her past. Curling up on her bed, clutching the photo to her breast, she wept once more, tired of running and putting up walls, drifting back into sleep.

Now, as she awoke once more, she sighed and forced herself to sit up, wondering just what time it was. Picking up the photo, she slipped it back into her basket and entered her bathroom, washing her face and unbraiding her messy hair. Looking at her reflection, she bit her lip and inhaled deeply. _"There's no point in hiding…that's why I came here, isn't it? So I wouldn't have to cower anymore. I won't let him frighten me, and I can't let his words get to me…no matter how painful."_ Stepping away from the small mirror, she forced herself to walk out into the hall, glancing over at Christine's door as she passed. _"She's asleep,"_ she thought, continuing on her way towards the Louis-Philippe room, when she heard movement taking place. Her brows furrowed in confusion at this. _"Odd…"_ "Christine?" she called out. "Is that you-?"

The elegant room appeared to have been taken over by a tailor, with mannequins and costumes, a set of boxes and bags set by one chair, as a masked man set a bolt of cloths down by the fireplace. Her eyes widened at this, her jaw nearly dropping as she raised her hand to her lips. "What-?!"

"Ah, you're awake," he noted, brushing a speck of dust from his shoulder before turning to face her, taking his fedora off upon seeing her. "Erik has been quite busy since this morning."

"…what time is it?" she asked, still stunned from the sight.

"Suppertime. Nearly seven, last Erik checked," he informed her, clasping his hands behind his back as he took a few steps towards her. He paused, waiting for her to say something, anything at all, but there was nothing. She could only stand and stare at all the items, unable to believe that he had brought it all down to his house. "…Erik thought that, perhaps, you might like something to do…the designs and catalog are here, and these are the costumes that you already have materials for," he explained awkwardly, motioning towards the mannequins and related items. "Erik has also give you some ideas for other designs, should you be interested."

Still she gawked, her eyes falling upon the boxes.

"Ah, those are yours, also. Erik had Madame Giry run into town to make some purchases."

"Purchases?" she echoed, raising an eyebrow at him.

"You do not have your own clothes," Erik clarified, pointing at the little hill of items he had bought for her. "Erik thought you might like to have your own things…Giry got them this afternoon, and Erik…he thought that…perhaps-"

"Why?"

The word struck him suddenly, his eyes suddenly locked with hers, as if there was a magnetic force that made them connect at once. His heart began to thump violently within him, making him wonder whether or not he was ill.

"Why did you do this? I thought you hated me," she said, her eyes and voice tinted with the hurt that he had seen this morning.

"Hate you?" he asked, his voice lowering to a soft whisper. "…Erik thought you hated him."

She gazed at him, making him want to squirm. Slowly, she moved her eyes from him to the boxes of clothes, the costumes, the materials, and finally back to him. "…are you trying to apologize?"

He stiffened, straightening a bit and crossing his arms over his chest, clearing his throat as he stammered, "E-Erik does not like to be proven wrong…however, he is…very sorry for what he said." His eyes darted back to her as he added, "He saw your step-family today at the opera." He watched as she now stiffened, her eyes unwittingly flashing with fear as her face paled. His stomach churned at the memory of the horrid family making promises to ruin her life for all time, compelling him to walk towards her and reach for her shoulder. Realizing what he was doing, he stopped, pulling his hand away before he worsened the situation. "Madame Giry and Monsieur Moncharmin sent them away…they do not know you are here…the family, that is. Erik has left a letter with the managers stating that you and Miss Daae will be away for a time, but shall return as soon as possible. He also made sure that those cretins would not return to search for you here."

There were tears in her eyes once more as he spoke, and he feared that perhaps he had gone too far, until he heard her whisper, "…thank you."

He blinked, startled by the simple words. He remained still as a statue as she reached and cautiously wrapped her fingers around his right hand, a strangled gasp escaping him.

"You didn't have to do all of this…you have no idea how much this means to me, _monsieur_-" she confessed.

"Erik," he breathed. "My name is Erik, not '_monsieur_'." He grimaced at once, wanting to smack himself for his stupidity. Why did he insist on her saying his name?!

"Erik," she whispered, making his heart leap into his throat as he listened to her utter his name and gently bring his hand to her lips. "Thank you…Erik."

The moment her lips were pressed onto his yellow, bony, cold hand, he trembled and released a soft cry, falling to his knees and clutching the skirts of her dress, weeping into them.

"Erik?!" she gasped, frightened by his reaction. "Have I done something wrong-?!"

"No woman has ever kissed Erik, forced or willingly," he cried, still covering his masked face with her skirt. "Not on his face, not even his hands! Oh, Angelique…!"

Her eyes leaked tears, a sad smile growing on her lips as she reached down and run her fingers through his hair, her free hand placed on his neck. "Poor Erik," she said gently, letting him sob into her dress. "Poor, dear Erik…"


	9. The Singer and the Seamstress

**Chapter Nine - The Singer and the Seamstress**

Christine yawned as she awoke, smelling something rather delightful. "Hmm…supper?" Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and left the safety of her room, checking the hall both ways before walking out. Entering the Louis-Philippe room, her eyes grew large at the large mess of cloth, mannequins, and papers. "Goodness!" she exclaimed, moving past them all until she arrived at the door and pushed it open, gasping as she saw Angelique setting the table, all the while amiably chatting with their captor.

"Oh, you're awake!" she beamed. "I hope you're hungry – I've cooked some beef and vegetables, and there's a bit of soup, too."

"Angelique?" Christine asked, blinking in awe. "What…what _is_ all this?"

"Supper, of course," she answered calmly. "Have a seat. I'll be back." She left the room once more, leaving the man and woman alone again in the room, a rush of dejavu washing over them.

"…Erik-" Christine spoke.

"Please, Christine," he pleaded, standing up. "Let Erik speak…It was wrong of him…this whole arrangement, but you must understand, he wanted to see you, to be with you…all Erik asks is that you spend a few days here, and perhaps if you are good, he can let you out for a bit…but you must come back. You have seen Erik's face, and he is most displeased that you have…you _must_ come back, Christine," he pleaded, his fist pressed to his heart as he stared at her with baleful eyes.

She listened to him, remembering what Angelique had told her earlier that day when she visited the seamstress in her room: _"He's lonely, and frustrated. Surely, we can give him a chance to prove himself, can't we? If we give him a chance, he might let us go up, at least for a bit."_ Heaving a sigh, she nodded. "…I'm sorry, Erik. I suppose I've also acted immaturely today." Stepping over to him, she hesitantly stretched her arm out and placed her fingertips on his shoulder, watching him stiffen at her touch. "…I shall do as you ask…but I beg of you, I must let Mamma Valerius know I am alright."

He gaped at her hand before tearing his eyes away and looking back at her, holding his head up and nodding. "Erik has already sent a message to her of your well being, child."

She smiled at him shyly, making his heart race. A flicker of hope shuddered through him, and he thought that things might not be so bleak after all…

"Who's hungry?" Angelique asked brightly, bringing out the main course. Seeing the two standing within close proximity, shadows of smiles upon their faces, she allowed herself to smile as well._"Things will be alright now…"_

**~OG~**

After supper – which the girls ate ravenously and Erik merely picked at his food, stating that he did not eat in the presence of others – the trio moved into the Louis-Philippe room and sat by the fire. Erik played his violin as Christine sang along, while Angelique sat complacently on a footstool sewing the vest of a costume. She smiled as she listened to the harmony the two created as they worked together, her heart and soul soothed by the beautiful music. "That was lovely, Erik, Christine."

"_Merci_," Christine blushed. "Erik did teach me."

He pressed his lips into a thin line and averted his eyes, not wanting to appear vain as he blushed from Christine's comment. "It is late…neither one of you is tired?"

"Not yet," Angelique shook her head. "I m afraid I've slept most of the day away, so I won't be sleeping for a while."

"I think I shall get some rest," Christine said, rising to her feet. "I didn't sleep as much as you did, Angelique." Nodding her head, she bid them good night, kneeling down and embracing Angelique. Caught off guard, the seamstress opened her mouth to speak when she heard Christine whisper, "Thank you for talking to Erik." Her eyes glistened with hope as she departed, the man and girl watching her leave in silence.

"Well…Erik shall let you work in silence," Erik spoke up, grabbing his violin when her voice made him stop.

"Won't you play something else?" she asked, turning to face him when she felt a pinch of pain in her finger. "Ow!" she winced, dropping her work at once.

"What is it?" he asked, setting the instrument aside and falling to his knees.

"_Mon Dieu_, that hurt!" she grimaced, checking her finger. "Oh, don't mind me, Erik. I've pricked my finger. I was distracted."

A drop of blood slowly seeped out of her wound, a throbbing pain pulsing through her finger. Erik reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, his hand hesitantly reaching for hers. "…may I-?"

"You don't have to ask to touch me, Erik," she smiled wryly at him. "I'm certainly not made of porcelain and you are not poisonous."

"There are those that think otherwise," he chuckled grimly, his fingers curling around her palm as he gently dabbed the wound with the fine cloth. Running his thumb over her hand, he felt her skin was slightly roughened. "…what did they make you do?"

She cast her gaze to the fire, understanding perfectly well what he meant. "…scrub floors…laundry…work in the garden…nothing out of the ordinary, Erik. I was a servant."

"Did they hurt you?"

She winced, shaking her head to clear unwanted memories out of her mind. "…it doesn't matter any more-"

"Did they?" he demanded to know, his voice low and firm, his eyes two flaming coals as he remembered how they had vowed to harm her once she was theirs again.

"…yes. Every so often," she confessed. "I was almost…violated…once."

He gritted his teeth, a hiss passing through his lips, when he felt her place her hand on his shoulder. She gave him a gentle squeeze and smiled softly at him. Pressing his lips together once more and biting his tongue, he motioned for her to wait as he got up and vanished into his room, returning with a strip of cloth and a small bottle of liquid. Dabbing it onto the kerchief, he rubbed it onto her finger. "It's going to sting," he warned her, seeing her face twist in irritation. "Just a bit longer…" Setting the materials aside, he niftily tied the strip of cloth around her finger and tied it, resting his hand over hers. "You may take it off in the morning." He gasped as she leaned forward and embraced him briefly, feeling her warm neck brush against his for an instant.

Pulling away, she tucked her hair behind her ear and blushed. "Sorry…I just…thank you, Erik."

He nodded, reluctantly pulling his hand from hers and standing upright. "…would you like to hear another tune?"

"Very much, if you please," she smiled, getting back to work at once.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, something he seldom did, as he picked up his violin once more and played a sweet, soothing song. Watching her as she stitched the buttons onto the vest, he felt a sudden strong warmth fill him, making his weary soul sigh in contentedness. He could get used to this…

**~OG~**

Angelique became quite busy for the next few days that she and Christine remained guests in Erik's underground house. She sewed, designed, cleaned, cooked – she became a household item and member that Erik found himself wondering how he managed without her before she came. She cleaned his cloaks and repaired his shirts, she cooked meals and prepared his desk – shocking both Opera Ghost and _prima donna_, as she entered the morgue-like room without fear now – while dusting off shelves and rearranging his masks.

"How can you do that without shuddering at the sight of that…that…coffin?!" Christine asked as she washed the dishes with her on the fifth night of their stay.

"I don't look it," she answered with a shrug, grabbing another plate from the counter.

"I do believe you're starting to enjoy yourself a bit too much, being down here," Christine sighed.

She said nothing, a smile playing on her lips as she scrubbed away. She would never confess to it, but she was indeed very comfortable, and she and Erik had already formed a playful, friendly relationship. As the days went on, she teased him like a sister and scolded him like a mother, and then, late at night when Christine was asleep, they would sit at the hearth and stare at the flames, sometimes murmuring about anything that came to mind, sometimes saying nothing. Erik had taken a liking to sitting beside her and placing his hand on hers, to which she would place her head on his shoulder.

After several requests and a few prods, Erik gave in and placed a mantel clock upon the fireplace shelf. Christine was especially grateful for the new addition, saying that she might go mad if she continued with their guessing game of what time of day it was.

"It's nearly been a week, _mon ami_. Do you suppose he'll let us leave soon?" Christine whispered as they passed into the drawing room and looked about to see if they were alone.

"Leave it be, Christine. The more you pester, the less he'll comply with your request," Angelique cautioned her. "It's getting late. Let's get some rest."

With a disappointed smile, Christine nodded and left for her room while Angelique entered hers, hearing Erik's organ in the distance as she made her way to the bathroom. Shaking her head with a smile, she knew that Erik would be in shortly to ask her to listen to a new portion of something he was composing. He wouldn't tell her just what it was he was working at, and he never admitted that he was composing, but something in the music – that beautiful, unfamiliar, haunting music that was filled with so many different emotions all at once – told her that it was his creation.

After bathing and brushing her hair, she got dressed for bed and stepped into her room once more, moving towards her desk to rearrange the articles in her basket that she had brought. She stacked her spools of colorful threads off to one corner, stabbing the accompanying needle into the stoutest of them all, before setting her thimble down beside them. She unfolded her old, worn green scarf and placed it to her cheek, memories of her father wrapping the item around her in winter warming her heart. Setting it upon her chair, she pulled out a tiny box and opened the lid, a sweet tune dancing around her as she watched the little ballerina from within twirl daintily on her toes. Smiling, she placed it at the center before grabbing the photograph and caressing the frame, gazing down at the three figures trapped inside the glass.

Her breath hitched as a presence materialized behind her, goose bumps rising on her skin as she sensed Erik was in the room. "…Erik?"

"Erik meant to knock," he said quietly, stepping towards her until he was at her side. "He heard music…these are yours?"

"Yes." She offered him the portrait, watching him hesitantly take it from her and look down on the picture. "I believe I was twelve in that photo…my mother died a year later."

"Erik is sorry," he murmured, offering the item back. "…you have your mother's eyes…and smile."

She blushed, mumbling her thanks as she placed the picture down once more. Reaching for the music box, she gently shut the lid and faced him. "Can I help you with something?"

"I- that is, _Erik_ has something he wishes to play…for you," he stammered, startled that he had slipped into saying "I". "That is, if you do not mind."

"You know I love your music, Erik," she beamed. "Of course, I'd like that very much."

He nodded, turning away when he paused for a moment, straightening before her. "…may Erik offer you his arm?" he asked, offering the crook of his elbow to her as she looked at him.

Angelique felt her heart skip a beat, blush filling her face once more. She could scarcely comprehend why she was doing that more and more so lately the past few days, but part of her liked it. Seeing him in his dark slack and poet's shirt with a burgundy robe draped over his tall, thin frame, she realized that he was, in her opinion, rather handsome – even with his ivory mask, yellowed skin, and thinning black hair. _"True, he's not a dashing prince, but…his voice, his thoughtfulness, his generosity…the way he treats me like…like a person…like a lady…_Mon Dieu, _what am I thinking?!"_

As she gaped at him, she didn't realize that he, too, was drinking in the sight of her. She wore a soft, light linen nightdress, modestly covering her body, a blue satin robe slipped over her frame, tied tightly around her waist, showing just how tiny and frail she really was. Her feet were bare on the carpet, her hand hovering inches away from his arm. Her cheeks were painted naturally from her blushing, a gentle rose pink hue, her lips merely a shade darker and parted as she inhaled. Her lashes beat against her skin, her stormy hued eyes haunting. Her chestnut-red hair curled sensuously around her face before draping over her collarbone and stopping upon her breasts. His blood raced as she curled her hand around his arm, stepping beside him so that her body brushed against his.

Holding his breath, he led her away to his room, his mind torn and battling with every step. Angelique was never part of his original plans…he wanted Christine, and now he had her…so why was this new girl suddenly taking over his mind and tossing everything he had intended out the window?

Entering his darkened cell, he motioned for her to sit at his desk as he quickly detached himself from her and hurried to his organ. His breath came in and out in quick, short, quiet gasps as he struggled to steady himself, reaching for a thick stack of papers. This woman was driving him mad, and the most frightening part of it all was that he liked it. _"This can't go on…!"_

"Erik, this rose…is it…?"

He spun around, his eyes widening as he remembered that he had left the flower out. "No! Put that away!" he ordered her, seeing how she had opened the book he had placed it in. "You weren't supposed to see-!"

"You kept the rose I left you?" she asked, her face lighting up.

He slammed the book shut and turned away from her, hugging it to his chest with the papers. "Who said it was the rose _you_ left?"

"I just…I thought…oh, never mind," she shook her head, a wry smile appearing on her lips.

Hearing the hurt in her voice, he sighed and admitted, "Erik has never received a gift from a woman…not even his own mother." Facing her once more, he opened the book and caressed the flattened petals, their fragrance filling the air. "…it was very…kind of you, to leave him a gift."

"I wish I could give more," she answered honestly, touching the sleeve of his robe. Their eyes locked for a moment before they suddenly looked away, timid. "Um, what was it you wanted to show me?" she asked brightly, masking her embarrassment.

Setting the book down, he gripped the papers once more before slowly handing them over to her. "The pieces that Erik played to you each night…came from this."

Taking the stack in her hands, she read the cover, written in red ink, scribbled in sloppy cursive: _"Don Juan Triumphant"_.

"Erik, did you compose this?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

He nodded, unconsciously running his fingers through his hair. "Erik has worked on this for many years, and it is nearly finished…but has never been able to share it with anyone."

"Oh, Erik, all those songs you'd play on the violin and organ…I _knew_ only you could have written them!" she laughed, gently sifting through the pages as she looked at the notes and words. "They're all beautiful, Erik…"

Erik felt his mouth suddenly turn up in a smile, a motion that rarely happened to him. There was a rush or warmth and hope that surged through his veins…and then he saw her smile fade. His instantly vanished. "What is it? What's wrong with it?"

"What?" she looked up. "Oh, nothing's wrong with this, Erik, it's brilliant…but…I don't understand."

"Don't understand what?" he frowned.

Biting her lip, she quietly asked, "…why are you showing this to me?"

He blinked, stunned by her question. "What do you mean…?"

"I mean, why _me_? Christine is the singer, and she would be able to perform this with ease, I'm sure. And you know I can't read music…why are you sharing this with me and not her? I'm sure she'd be delighted to see this-"

"Because you-" He stopped, looking away before clearing his throat and forcing himself to look back at her. "…because Erik knew that you would appreciate this…he wanted to share this with you because it is very, _very_ special to him…and, he hoped you would share the same…happiness."

A smile appeared on her face as he said these words, her eyes shining with tears. "Erik…"

"Please do not cry because of Erik," he pleaded, though he felt secretly liked having someone cry just for him because she was happy. He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, not sure of what to say.

"Erik?"

"Yes?" he answered a little too quickly, loving the way she softly said his name.

"Erik, please don't be offended when I ask this of you," she said, standing before him and setting his work aside. His stomach twisted in a knot as he feared the worst, wondering just what it was he said or did that would cause her to say such a request. "Erik…will you take off your mask?"

His head snapped up, his eyes large with disbelief. He wasn't sure if he wanted to bolt and cower in a corner or grab her by the shoulders and shake her silly. "You _what_?!"

"Erik, please, listen to me," she said, reaching for him.

"No!" he snarled, raising an arm to shield his face from her, taking a step back. "Erik shall _not_ show his face!"

"Erik, I want to see you!" she insisted, both her hands wrapping around his arm. Her voice lowered a bit as she looked up at him with sincerity. "Erik…if the Daroga can look upon you without fear, then I want to be able to as well…I want to be a true friend to you, one that you don't have to worry about hiding from."

"_Friend_," he scoffed, shaking his head. "Erik does not have friends, and friends do not ask to see monsters."

Her hands were on his masked cheeks in moments, his arm at his side as she forced him to face her, her blue-grey eyes hypnotizing as she stared into his own golden orbs. "You are _not_ a monster, Erik. You are not a ghost, nor are you an angel…you are a man…a wonderful man. Flawed, but wonderful, nonetheless."

His throat tightened and dried, his hands shaking as she spoke. "A-Angelique…please, don't-"

"Trust me, Erik," she whispered, her fingers inching towards the edges of the mask, suddenly covered by his. She stopped as he gripped her hands, her head drooping as she thought he was going to remove them.

He did…along with the mask.

Lifting her face, she was flabbergasted to find that he was helping her remove the item, his face eerie in the candlelight of the room. He watched her with frightened eyes, waiting for her to faint, scream, recoil…

Her brows furrowed a moment as she took in his face, her stomach churning for several minutes before it finally settled. Releasing one hand, she raised it to his barren, sunk-in cheek, delicately touching his skin. He breathed in sharply, holding his breath as she placed her hand upon his face. A woman, a beautiful young woman, was touching his face, looking at his true self…and she was not running from him. There was no fear, no disgust in her eyes…only concern, and something else he couldn't quite pinpoint. He didn't dare to move, waiting for the magic of the moment to be over, when he felt her thumb caress his skin.

Unable to resist, he hand flew to his cheek, covering Angelique's and pressing it close against him, squeezing his eyes shut as he melted into the simple gesture. "Angelique…" he whispered, his voice sending shivers down her spine. "Angelique…may Erik…kiss your hand?"

She gave a small, shy laugh and shook her head at him. "Whatever for?"

"Please, Angelique," he pleaded, opening his eyes. There were tears forming in them, looking like diamonds as they slid down his horrifying face. "Erik has never…that is, he-"

"Yes, Erik," she nodded. "I would like that very much."

He felt his body tremble at those words. _"I would like that very much."_ No sane person, much less a woman, would want his lips on their skin…then again, Angelique was not quite like other people. Even when she first saw his face down by the lake, she merely gasped and stared – a mild reaction compared to what others had done in the past. So it was that he took her hand from his face and painstakingly dragged it from his cheek to his lips, where he feverishly pressed his lips to her palm.

She shivered from the gesture, taking a step closer to him. She watched as he brought his other hand up, using both his to cup hers reverently before daring to kiss each fingertip, eventually turning her hand so that he could finally press his transparent lips onto the back of her hand.

"Thank you," he breathed onto her skin, lowering his gaze to hers. "Thank you…my dear Angelique."


	10. Half-Truths and Ideas

**Chapter Ten - Half-Truths and Ideas**

"You want me to…leave?"

They were sitting in the drawing room, sipping tea, when Erik spoke up and told Angelique, "You are going above to the opera in the morning."

So it was that she and Christine sat in their seats, their teacups paused in midair as they gawked at Erik after he spoke. "Don't look at Erik that way, Angelique," Erik shook his head. "You must go. The costumes are ready and need to be taken back, and if Erik keeps you here much longer, people will begin to wonder if you ever will return."

"And…what about me?" Christine asked, ignoring a warning glance from her friend.

"Erik is afraid that you shall have to stay a while longer, my dear," he answered calmly, pouring himself another cup of the steaming beverage. "You shall return, of that he shall make certain, but not yet, Christine."

She nodded, content with the answer for the time being.

"But Erik…may I come back?" Angelique asked.

Christine coughed, nearly choking on her drink as she heard Angelique's request.

Erik blinked at her with large eyes before he shut them and smiled, delighted. "Erik shall show you an easier route than the one you took last time you came down, Angelique, if that is your wish."

"It is," she nodded, smiling back as she selected another biscuit from the tray. "But I do want to stay upstairs in the workroom while fixing the costumes – it would be easier for us all, and then I'll be back to make supper."

"Very well." He held back the urge to chuckle, very much liking the idea that Angelique would hurry home to him and make supper…it made him feel _human_. Sipping his tea, the notion flickered into his mind that perhaps he should take one quick glance before calling it a night. He made sure to inspect his opera house at several times throughout each day, but one could never be too careful. Nodding to himself, he continued to calmly drink his beverage before the two women, enjoying some normalcy for once in his life.

**~OG~**

Excusing himself after tea, he left the girls to do the dishes and rowed his way to the other side of the lake, rolling his eyes as he arrived at the steps. "Erik knew you would be back sooner or later, Daroga, however he was rather hoping it would be later than sooner."

"Erik, what have you done to those girls?" The Persian glared at him accusingly as the Opera Ghost nimbly stepped out of the boat and onto the dock, calmly readjusting his hat over his brow to make sure it would shade his mask.

"He has done nothing," he answered coolly. "Erik has continued singing lessons with Christine and has gathered items for Angelique to work on during their stays. In fact, Angelique shall be returning tomorrow to the opera to continue working on the costumes."

The Persian blinked, stunned by the news and how calm he was about it. "…really?"

"Really. Though it's none of your business, Daroga," he sniffed contemptuously.

"What about Mademoiselle Daae, Erik?" the foreigner insisted, following him as he walked down a darkened passage.

"Is it not enough that Erik returns the horse and releases one of his guests?" he snapped, already irritated with the man.

"You cannot force them to stay with you, Erik," the Daroga frowned. He took a step back, startled as Erik spun around to face him, his cape swishing dramatically around him.

"Oh, but that it where you are wrong, Daroga," Erik grinned, his smile a combination of glee and spite. "Angelique will come back to me tomorrow evening of her own free will!"

The man gawked at him before shaking his head. "That's not possible, Erik-"

"Oh, but it is!" he chuckled, continuing up the stairs. "If you don't believe Erik, Daroga, come back tomorrow and wait for Miss Archambault to greet you as she returns." He gave a little wave before dashing off, just to annoy him further. He was quite giddy from the whole idea, especially after stating it aloud – it made it appear tangible, hope swelling within his chest.

He walked through the halls with his head held high, the sensation that he was soaring never leaving him. He, the Opera Ghost, had a friend – a _lady friend_, no less – and she wanted to return to him. He almost wanted to go skipping but restrained himself, realizing how foolish he was. Slipping into his hiding place in Box Five, he quickly threw out an envelope before shutting the door to his perch and waited, leaning comfortably against the wall until he heard someone enter. Peering through the peephole, he smiled as he saw Madame Giry enter for her usual rounds.

"_Bonsoir_, Madame Juliette," he spoke to her, earning her attention at once. "I've a gift for you on the floor."

She peered down, kneeling when she saw the envelope. "Another list, _monsieur_?"

"No, Madame, it's payment." He watched her open the paper, her eyes widening at the amount placed within. "For all the trouble you've gone through helping me this past week."

"You are most generous!" she beamed.

"I thought you might like to know that Miss Archambault will be returning to work tomorrow," he informed her, watching her eyes light up.

"How wonderful! The girls in the _corps_ have missed her, as have I…and you know how anxious the managers are." She rolled her eyes at this. "Oh, and there is also the matter of the _Comte_and_Vicomte de Chagny_."

"So, they are still searching for the ladies, are they?" Erik's lip curled as his brows furrowed together. The de Chagnys were a bothersome pair – one brother swooning over Christine while the other claimed to visit La Sorelli and snooped for clues about Angelique's whereabouts. He couldn't keep the girls hidden much longer because of their antics, not to mention they had to get back to work. "Never mind them, Madame. I shall deal with the matter should it get out of hand. In the meantime, continue about your business until we meet again."

"_Bonsoir, monsieur_," she bobbed her head, her little feather in her bonnet bobbing with her as she curtsied and left the box.

Erik watched her leave, waiting until she had shut the door before slipping back into the passages and scouring the grounds for any suspicious or interesting movements. He was satisfied to find all in its place, though he had a nagging suspicion that the managers were probably spying on Madame Giry since she was reinstated. Completing his tour of the opera, he arrived at the stables and was about to step out – Cesar enjoyed it whenever he stopped by with a few sugar cubes – when a shadow grew along the wall. Quickly, he jumped back into his hiding place, keeping the wooden panel up so that it appeared to be in place as he peeped through the cracks. His brows furrowed at once upon seeing a tall man enter the stables, his bright red hair coming into view.

"_Maurice!"_ Erik instantly recognized the hard, sneering face, his eyes cold as steel. His stomach twisted in disgust, his fingers gripping the wood so tightly that he found feel it creak and crack under his force. _"How I should like to strangle you myself_, monsieur_,"_ he glowered angrily. It was evident that the man was trying to find out anything about Angelique's whereabouts and was getting nowhere. After checking each stall, he grunted and turned away, abandoning his search.

Erik waited several more minutes before finally stepped out and stalking over to Cesar's stall. _"I shall have to warn Angelique about him,"_ he thought to himself, absentmindedly offering the horse a handful of sweets. Once the horse had happily gobbled them up, he patted his neck and disappeared the way he came, anxious to get back after seeing the man in his opera.

He seemed to fly through the corridors of the cellars as he made his way home, his eyes darting about as he half-expected the Persian to be waiting for him. Oddly enough, he was out of sight, giving the Phantom some piece of mind as he rowed back home. Locking the door and hanging his cloak and hat, he glanced at the costumes that Angelique had been working on, now folded and prepared to take back upstairs in the morning. Hollowness began to fill his abdomen as he realized that Angelique would not be here for several hours. What if she changed her mind and decided to stay in the workroom as she did the first night? What if that _Comte_ took her away and she enjoyed being with the de Chagnys more than with him?

His hands trembling, he forced himself to walk down the hall towards the girls' rooms, moving straight for Angelique's. He paused as he noticed Christine's door, suddenly tempted to see her. Placing his hand on the knob, he twisted it, surprised that she had left it unlocked. Poking his head in, he saw her figure lying under the covers, her face framed by her angelic blonde locks. For a moment, he was breathless – she truly was an angel, perfection at its best. Daring, he took a step towards her, stopping as he heard her sigh.

"Papa…Raoul…" she murmured peacefully, unaware of the fire she had started.

The sudden admiration he held broke into a thousand pieces of jealousy as he gritted his teeth and exited the room, shutting it at once. Leaning against the frame of the door, he reached for his mask, his nails digging into the material harshly. "Even in sleep, she only thinks of that _boy_!" he hissed, insulted. "She _shall_ love me, somehow." Raising his head, he glared at the wall when he realized that Angelique's room was just a few steps down the way. The fear of losing her filled him once more as he ran to the door, carefully turning the knob and doing the same he had done with Christine.

None of the items on her desk had moved, making him sigh in relief. Turning his face, he could see Angelique snuggled beneath the coverlet of her bed, sound asleep and unaware of his presence. Stalking deeper into the room, he dared to reach out and tug the door of her armoire open. Everything he had bought her, every dress and every set of shoes, were still placed inside in perfect order. Another breath of relief rushed out of him, surprising him. He hadn't realized that he was holding his breath.

With each step he took, ever so delicately, he walked to her side, kneeling down so that he might be eye to eye with her. Her hair fell gently around her face, framing her cheeks. Cautiously, he reached out and curled one finger around a stray lock, enjoying its silky feel against his skin. A moan from the girl startled him, causing him to freeze as he stared at her, waiting for her to wake up.

"…Erik…"

His heart stopped, his eyes glued to her face as her lips parted and breathed his name. He waited, expecting her eyes to open and see him at any moment, but she never awoke. He inhaled deeply, relieved that he had not been caught, but there was something that made his heart patter excitedly within him…she had murmured his name in her sleep.

Clenching one hand to his heart, he felt his entire being ache as he gazed at her. "Oh, Angelique," he whispered. "Why do you do this to me?" Hesitantly, he reached out, his fingertips brushing against her cheek as he daringly moved her hair away from her eyes. He felt his eyes sting with tears as a smile grew on her face and she sighed in her sleep.

He inclined his head to her impulsively, stopping himself just as quickly. Erik shook his head, clearing his mind. _"No…she would not like that…and Erik_must_be a gentleman to her…"_ Shaking all the while, he pressed his fingertips to his lips and slowly, ever so slowly, brought his hand to her mouth. Softly, he pressed his fingertips to her beautiful pink lips, shivering as he felt their skin on his. His eyes widened as she unconsciously tilted her head and pressed her lips to his hand before returning to its previous position and calmly continuing to doze off. Snatching his own wrist, he brought his hand back to his mouth and pressed it to his lips, imagining the sensation of her kiss on his lips instead of his fingers. Curling his blessed hand against his mouth, he whispered, "_Mon Dieu_…Angelique…my dear Angelique…"

**~OG~**

"I don't think Maurice will be able to sneak into the opera, not with all the stagehands and ballerinas around, and I'm certain there must still be police around to investigate our disappearance," Angelique said aloud, more to herself than to Erik as he guided her back towards the workroom through the passages in the cellars below.

He patted her hand, a reassuring smile forming on his face. "Erik shall not let those monsters harm you, Angelique."

She smiled back, squeezing his arm gratefully, unknowingly sending his heart into a tizzy. "Thank you, Erik."

He bit his tongue and continued on with her in silence as he helped her return the costumes. The mannequins had been brought back days before, leaving them to collect and bring back the ballerinas' new dresses for Faust. Arriving at the door, he tugged at the latch, opening at once for them. Peering into the room, he motioned for her to follow and helped her place the costumes back onto the bench. Finally, he set the new designed and marked catalog on the workbench. It wasn't until after she had finally put away the last gown that she noticed there was something different about the room.

"Erik…did someone clean the place? And did…Oh! Look at all these materials!" she gasped, staring at the newly stocked wall and shelves. "What happened while I was away-?"

"Erik sent several notes to the managers, notifying them of necessary changes," Erik chuckled, enjoying the look of glee in her eyes. "There is also a clean cot should you need a rest after work-" He gasped as she tackled him, wrapping her arms around him so tightly that he thought he would suffocate.

"Oh, Erik!" she laughed, pulling away after a moment. "You're spoiling me!"

"N-Nonsense," he stammered, ducking his face away so that she wouldn't see him blush – even if his cheeks were covered by a mask.

"Come on, Meg!" an insistent voice whined, not very far from Angelique's door.

"Oh dear," Angelique breathed, glancing back for an instant before facing Erik once more. "Erik-"

"Erik shall take his leave now," he said, lowering his voice as he entered the hidden passage once again. "Remember, _the nail_," he added, pointing to the loose nail that hung close to the open passageway.

She nodded, embracing him one last time before waving shyly at him. "I'll see you tonight, then."

"Tonight," he nodded, a smile growing on his face just before he shut the opening from his side.

No sooner had the door closed, the door to the workroom opened and there was a gasp behind her.

"It's her! It's Angelique!" little Jammes squealed in delight, running for the seamstress and embracing her tightly.

"Jammes!" laughed Angelique, patting the girl's back as she embraced her. "What a wonderful welcome back."

"Angelique?!" Meg gasped, torn between disbelief and amazement. "Oh…OH!" She ran for her, embracing her at once, tears in her eyes as she accepting the woman's arms. "When you vanished, I was so worried…and when I heard from Maman that you were taken by the Opera Ghost…I thought I'd never see you again!"

"Your mother knew?" Angelique asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't you remember that Madame Giry works for the Phantom?" Jammes asked eagerly, ready to hear all the dirty details. "But that means you were with the Ghost! He let you go?! Or did you escape? Is he absolutely hideous?!"

"Jammes!" snapped Angelique and Meg at once, silencing the girl.

Taking a deep breath, Angelique knew that she had to tell them something, especially since Madame Giry had leaked the information out to them, and the managers probably knew as well. "I don't remember how I left or came back, I was asleep both times. All I can tell you was when I went looking for Christine Daae, I left the opera house and began to check the streets, thinking that perhaps she had gotten so frightened that she ran out. But it was so cold that after a time I stopped and sat down. I must have dozed off when I awoke in this wonderful room. The Phantom owns a house, you see, and I never him personally but I was with Christine, and we were treated like princesses."

"Princesses…?" Jammes gaped in awe.

Meg raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing, knowing there was more to this story but unwilling to start Jammes's excitement all over again.

"He told me last night that I was to return to get back to work on the costumes. I only just woke up now and was looking around the room when you two burst in," she lied.

"Ooh! How exciting!" Jammes gushed, hopping up and down like a rabbit. "Perhaps he will steal me away too!"

"God forbid," Meg shook her head, making a sign of the Cross. Turning her attention to Angelique, she said, "Whatever it was that happened, we're so glad to have you back. There have been a lot of people looking for you…" She raised her brows, hinting at her step-family.

Angelique nodded, mouthing "later" when Jammes looked away. "Well, I certainly hope I haven't caused too much trouble-"

"OOOH! Look, Meg! Look at the new costumes!" she squealed, pointing at the new outfits. "Oh, may we-?"

"Go on," Angelique smiled, watching the young run scurry towards the new clothes. Inclining her head, she whispered to Meg, "Your mother met my step-family, I presume."

"Yes, she said they were awful," Meg whispered back. "I haven't told a soul."

"_Merci, mon ami_," she said, embracing the girl once more. "I ran away from them looking for an uncle I'd only recently heard about. That's why I came to Paris."

"You'll be safe here. Maman says they won't come back," Meg reassured her.

"I certainly hope so," murmured Angelique.

"What in Heaven's name is all this racket-?!" a man's voice boomed as the door swung open.

All three girls jumped at the sound of the irritated voice, staring with large, frightened eyes at the entrance as Monsieurs Richard and Moncharmin entered the vicinity, with two other figures in tow.

"_Mademoiselle_!" Moncharmin beamed, going to Angelique and kissing her hand. "We are most delighted to have you back!"

"Y-You?!" Richard gaped, his jaw hitting the ground. "B-B-But, _how_-?!"

"Out of my way," Madame Juliette Giry sniffed, heading straight for the young woman. A smile filled her face as she embraced the girl, kissing her cheek. "Welcome back, Angelique. We have missed you."

"_Madame_," Angelique smiled, a warmth filling her heart as she embraced the woman in return. "I've missed you."

"Mademoiselle Archambault?! Is it really you?"

Angelique raised her eyes, catching sight of a man she hadn't expected to see after the incidents that had taken place. "_Monsieur le Comte_?" she asked, her brows furrowed in confusion as he entered, his eyes shining with a shadow of a smile on his lips. "What are you-?"

"I was- ahem, that is, we were all very concerned when you vanished," he said, correcting himself a little too quickly as he approached her, taking her hand in his and kissing it. "Thank Heaven you are well. What happened to you?"

"I was lost-" she started.

"The Opera Ghost had her and-" Jammes started, instantly earning a dirty look from Madame Giry and the managers. The patrons had no need to know about whether or not the Phantom was real, it would only cause more problems. Meg went to the girl's side and dragged her out, excusing herself as they exited.

"You were saying?" Firmin Richard asked, giving her a look that stated "make something up and fast".

"You remember I went looking for Christine Daae?" she asked calmly.

"Yes, of course," he nodded.

"I went outside of the opera to see if she had run away, but I got lost. I'm afraid I'm still very unfamiliar with Paris, you see, and it was cold, so I sat down to get a moment's rest. I believe I dozed off for the next thing I knew I was in a wonderful house."

"Where?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know. That's the problem – this house had no windows," she answered, the last part very true of her story.

"_No_ windows?!" he asked, aghast.

"Yes," she nodded. "I remained there for a time, I was ill from wandering in the cold for so long. The owner of the house remained out of sight but he made certain to have someone care for me. Just last night he sent me a message saying I was to return to the opera today. I fell asleep in his home and I awoke now, just to find out that somehow, I arrived here."

"Extraordinary," he murmured, stroking his moustache.

"Isn't it?" Richard laughed nervously. "Well, _mademoiselle_, we are going to attempt to put on another production of _Faust_ and expect the costumes to be done in about a week."

"I see you've already gotten to work," Moncharmin grinned, noticing the corps de ballet's costumes.

Richard followed his gaze, his jaw dropping once more. "W-Well!" he choked, impressed.

"I'll get to it at once," she promised.

"Oh! I almost forgot to mention," Moncharmin added, snapping his fingers as the thought came to him. "We shall be having a Masquerade Ball in three days, everyone is welcome to come. It's to help promote _Faust_, and I was wondering if you would make me a mask that resembled a dragon's head, my dear."

"I will certainly do my best," she smiled. "It would be an honor to make you that mask."

"Excellent! I shall pay you in advance," he vowed, kissing her hand once again. "Do make something for yourself, my dear. We did order everything you selected from the catalog while you were away."

"Yes, I noticed," she beamed. "Thank you both so much!"

"Think nothing of it," the kind-hearted manager answered, guiding his partner out the door. "We'll leave you to it, then. Good luck!"

She waved at him, laughing as he yanked Richard away. "Looks like I have quite a bit to do on my hands."

"I shall also take my leave," Madame Giry spoke, squeezing the girl's hand before she left and bobbing her head at Philippe.

Angelique felt strange and awkward left with Philippe, alone in the room. Offering him an unsure smile, she curtsied and said, "Well, I do hope you'll excuse me, but I have to get to work and-"

"I know about your step-family," he cut her off, his grey eyes catching sight of how pale she became at the mention of the group. "…I was about to leave on the first day you went missing when I ran into Madame Giry and she told me to look of for a woman with her two children looking for you. She said they were extremely unpleasant…" He took in her form as she inhaled silently and held her head up, facing him with her determined stormy eyes. "…is that why you came here to Paris, searching for Comte Archambault?"

"It is," she nodded, her voice clear and firm. "After my father died, my stepmother showed her true colors. Life was very…_unpleasant_, these last two years…so I ran away in hopes of finding a new life, a new home, a new family."

His heart ached as he listened to her, wishing he knew just what exactly happened to her. Something stirred within him as he reached out and took her hand. "Angelique, I've asked you before, and I shall ask once again – come with me! You can stay at my home in your own room until we get a response from your uncle. I've already sent the letter out and it will be just a matter of days, God willing, until we get a response."

"_Monsieur_," she said, tugging her hand in an effort to free herself from his hold. "Please let me go-"

"Angelique, please, it's not safe here," he insisted, taking a step towards her.

She took a step back, finally wrenching her hand free. "I appreciate your concern, Comte de Chagny, but I must decline."

"Why?" he asked, his brows furrowing in frustration. "Surely you don't think I would do anything to taint your honor?"

"If I had any honor, I would worry about it," she smirked. "I am a mere seamstress, _monsieur_, you needn't worry about me-"

"You think too little of yourself," he said gently, reaching for her. She continued to step away from him, causing his arm to fall to his side. "Are you frightened of me?"

"No," she answered truthfully. "But please, let me stay here. I can take care of myself just fine. Please, Monsieur-"

"Philippe," he corrected her. "At least call me Philippe."

She blinked, stunned by the request, but nodded in compliance. "Philippe, please, let me stay, and do not ask me any more to go with you. It's better this way."

He sighed, nodding in defeat. "Very well. But I do hope that you'll think of me should you ever need anything."

"And take advantage of your generosity? Never," she shook her head with a small smile.

"I rather wish you would," he mumbled, bowing politely to her before leaving the room.

Waiting until he had left, she shook her head and gave a breath of relief, glad to be alone at last. Turning back to face her work, she gave a satisfied smile, happy to be distracted for the time being. Running to the shelves, she scanned the wall for the desired items when her eyes landed on a beautiful, rich scarlet fabric. Her fingers ran over the cloth, her mind racing with an idea in mind. "Erik…this would suit him quite nicely," she murmured, her eyes lighting up with inspiration. Snatching a piece of paper, she got to work at once, sketching her vision for minutes on end, humming part of Margarita's song from the opera. She became so enraptured in her work that she could not resist singing out,

"_No my lord, not a lady am I, nor yet a beauty,_

_And do not need an arm to help me on my way…"_

Holding the picture up, she admired it and beamed, pleased with her sketch. Giggling with excitement, she folded and slipped the picture away into an apron pocket and tied the article of clothing around her waist before once more focusing on her work. "Down to business it is."

**~OG~**

It was well past dusk when Angelique was satisfied with her work for the day. Having pinned the designs with the list of materials needed to complete the suit or dress, she had finished two grand costumes and set them aside with the ballerinas' outfits, as well as the very first dress she had made when she first arrived. Exhausted but happy, she gathered a set of materials into a large sack and slung it over her shoulder before she pressed the nail into the wall. The panels slid away smoothly, and there, waiting in the corridor, was Erik.

"Erik!" she gasped, her face lighting up at the sight of him. "You came to bring me back?"

"If that is suitable for you, then yes," he chuckled, his heart thumping as he realized that she was actually delighted to have him appear and whisk her away. He offered her his arm, his breath hitching as she readily linked hers with his. "Shall we?" She nodded, watching him raise the level into position so that the panels slid back seamlessly before he led her away into the darkness, a lantern at hand. "Bringing a project back?" he noticed, pursing his lips as the bulging sack she carried.

"I'm sure you've already heard there's going to be a masked ball," she grinned. "I thought of an idea for a costume."

"Erik is certain you shall look stunning-" he began.

"It's for you, actually."

His head whipped towards her, his eyes large. "For me?"

"Yes," she answered. "That is, if you're alright with it. I shall need your measurements as well."

"Oh…certainly," he nodded, blushing beneath his mask. "…thank you, Angelique."

"Of course," she smiled brightly.

He bit his lip, glancing over at her once more. "…you lied to protect me today."

She blinked, stunned by his words. "And you clearly didn't leave after you dropped me off this morning," she answered, raising an eyebrow and smiling coyly. "Yes, I made up a story for everyone."

"Why?"

"Because that's what friends do, Erik. They protect and help one another," she told him, gently squeezing his arm as they walked down a long, winding set of stairs together.

He gulped, her words and gesture sending his mind and body into a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts. "Erik has never had friends…" A small smile began to twitch onto the corners of his mouth. "But he rather likes the idea."

She shook her head at him and laughed, her voice echoing in the vast halls, sending goosebumps over his skin. "So do I."

They continued on in silence for a while, each one enjoying the presence of the other. Arriving at the lake, he helped her in before sitting down and rowing back to the house, his eyes drinking in the sight of her after so many hours apart, when he remembered something important.

"You have a beautiful voice," he said suddenly, startling her.

"What do you mean?" she asked, raising an eyebrow playfully at him. "You always hear me talk. There's nothing pretty about it-"

"Erik begs to differ," he interrupted. "But he meant your _singing_ voice."

Blush covered her face as she heard this, her hands rising to cover her mouth. "You…you _didn't_!" she shook her head, looking away from him.

"Whatever is wrong?" he asked, absolutely perplexed by her reaction. "You have a lovely voice-"

"I can't believe you heard me!" she mumbled into her hands. "I…I don't sing, Erik."

"You just need a bit of vocal training," he suggested.

"I'm not a singer," she shook her head. "The last time I sang was at my father's birthday, the year before he died. My stepsister, Helen, and stepmother, Capucine, ridiculed me when he wasn't in the room. They said I sounded like a yowling cat."

"May Erik strangle them for you?" he snarled, gripping the oars tightly. "You sounded nothing like a yowling cat, and you should not let their words discourage you-"

"Erik, I've really never been one to sing in front of anybody. I freeze," she confessed. "I don't think I sound terrible, but I get petrified when people listen to me sing. Besides, there are others with lovelier voices. Look at Christine-"

"Each person has their own talents," Erik cut in, setting the oars aside and reaching for her hand. "You cannot sing like Christine, but your voice is still something very precious. It made Erik's heart want to sing in reply."

"But-" she protested.

"Do not compare – each of you is beautiful in your own way."

She stared at him shyly, accepting his hands as she nodded in defeat.

"…will you let Erik give you lessons?" he asked, a hesitant smile growing on his face. "Just the two of us. Christine does not have to be there if you are truly uncomfortable."

Pressing her lips into a thin line, she nodded once more, tucking her hair out of her face. "I…I would like that. Thank you. Thank you, Erik."

Squeezing her hand, he released her and got back to the oars, her voice echoing in his mind as he continued along. The smile on his face would not disappear as he recalled how his soul was instantly drawn to her sweet, ringing, warm voice. With lessons and practice, she would be perfect. True, she was not Christine Daae, but the more he thought about it, he found that he didn't want her to be like Christine…he just wanted her to be herself.


	11. A Villain Turned Hero

**Chapter Eleven - A Villain Turned Hero**

"Open your eyes, Christine."

A gasp of delight filled her as Christine Daae realized that for the first time in nearly a fortnight, she was outside. The streets were dark and there were few people still out at this hour, but they were outside, nonetheless. "Oh, Erik!"

He ushered her to a brougham carriage and helped her inside, paying the driver and directing him to head for the _Bois de Boulogne_. "Erik has made a decision, Christine," he said once the cab started moving.

"Oh?" she asked, clutching her shawl closer to her bosom, a gesture which Erik noticed and blushed at once.

"Erik has decided it is time for you to return to the _Palais Opera_," he informed her, pulling out his pocket watch and checking the time. _"Eight o'clock…Angelique will be finishing work on the costumes by now and heading home…"_

"Oh, Erik, thank you!" she breathed, her eyes shining brightly as she smiled at him.

"But you must return to Erik every so often," he cautioned her. "You remember the agreement?"

"Yes, of course…how could I forget?" she answered quietly, her eyes losing their glimmer.

He felt a pang of guilt prod at his chest and could almost hear Angelique scolding him: _"You know she's unhappy, so why do you keep torturing her, as well as yourself?"_ He shook his head, struggling to clear his thoughts. No, he had a goal in mind, and he was going to achieve it. Somehow, Christine would find a way to see past his hideousness and come to accept him, just as Angelique had, and possibly even love him one day. His eyes drifted back to her face, taking in her soft, pale skin, her sad blue eyes staring out the window. "Christine-"

"CHRISTINE!"

Erik nearly jumped out of his skin upon hearing someone shout the name. Pulling his hat over his brow, he peered through the curtained windows, his eyes widening as he saw the bratty Vicomte de Chagny shouting at them.

"Christine!" Raoul cried out, running after the cab.

Christine said nothing though her eyes were filled with fear and longing, her hand frantically moving to her shawl.

"Cabbie!" Erik shouted, smacking his fist to the wall of the cab. "Back to the opera, at once!" As he said these words, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Christine withdrew an envelope from her shawl and flung it out the window, watching it twirl in the wind before landing somewhere in the slush and mud. "What was that?!" he demanded, his hand flying towards her and snatching her wrist. "A note? A cry for help?! Has Erik not treated you like a guest in his home?! How could you betray Erik?!"

"Erik, stop, you're hurting me!" she pleaded, her eyes filling with tears at once. "Y-you don't understand, that's just to reassure him that I am well so he'll stop looking for me!"

"Lies!" he growled, holding his head in his hands. "Erik should have known better… he should have…"

They rode back in silence, the only sound between them was Christine's muffled cries as she wept into her hands. Erik pressed his palms together and covered his exposed mouth with them, his mind working to sort out why he was angry…rather, why he _wasn't_ as angry as he should be. He felt so strange and confused, his heart and mind tugging him in too many directions at once. All he knew at this point was that he would feel better once he spoke with Angelique.

What felt like eons later, Erik paid the driver and helped Christine out, leading her through a secret entrance by the _Rue-Scribe_. Lighting a lantern he had left from a previous escapade, he guided her through the darkened, dripping corridors until they came to a hidden door. "Go down this hall and when you come out, you shall find yourself on the other side of the lake, at Erik's house," he instructed her, opening the door for her.

She stared at him, surprised by his calmness after everything that had happened. "You're not coming?"

"Erik has other things he has to do," he said coldly, waving her on. "Go back, Christine. Erik shall return shortly."

She nodded and reluctantly walked in alone, leaving Erik to stalk off on his own.

He hurried towards the operas, eager to get away and see if he could find Angelique. She always seemed to make him smile or clear his thoughts – he craved her presence at times, though he couldn't fathom why. Stopping by the managers' office, he found the two men arguing about what they wanted to wear for the masquerade, boring him at once. Taking off, he hurried to Angelique's workroom but found it empty.

"She's returning home," he noted, seeing how everything was set in place for the next day. A smile grew on his lips as he thought of her, coming back to him of her own free will, her face lighting up as she saw him. Satisfied, he climbed several stairwells before slipping out onto the catwalks and rafters of the stage. Glancing below, he found everything in order and swung down via rope, landing beside the ballerinas' room, when he caught them giggling the word "Phantom". Curiosity got the better of him, leading him to hide in the shadows and listen through the cracked door as to their conversation.

"Cosette! How can you think that?!" Meg Giry's voice arose from the chatter and giggles.

"It was just a thought," Cosette giggled, clearly embarrassed and enthralled with whatever she had suggested.

"You know, I wouldn't be surprised," little Jammes answered. "She said that he took her to his home and treated her kindly! The Opera Ghost is not one to do such a thing."

"But how would _you_ know?" Louise, one of the newer girls, asked innocently. "You've never seen him-"

"No, but remember what he did to Joseph Buquet?!" Jammes butted in, instantly making the others screech in horror.

"Hush up, all of you!" the voice of La Sorelli cut the air, instantly getting them all to shut up. "Honestly, this is utter rubbish. The Phantom in love with the seamstress, bah!"

Erik froze upon hearing these words, his stomach twisting in a knot, his heart thumping uncontrollably within his breast.

"She's right," one of the elder girls, Josephine, chimed in. "If the Phantom would fall in love with anyone, it must be Christine Daae."

"Daae?" the younger girls gasped.

"It makes sense," another girl, Charlotte, added. "She's vanished for a fortnight and there's been no sign of her anywhere."

"But Angelique is sweet and beautiful and kind," Cosette protested. "Surely _she_ could break through to the Ghost-?"

"Would you all stop this nonsense?!" Sorelli snapped. "I come in here to borrow a few ribbons and I get an earful of childish fantasies about singers and seamstresses earning a ghost's attention._Mon Dieu_, what next? A pig becoming _prima donna_?!"

"I think we already have one," Josephine muttered, earning even more laughter from the girls.

"Watch your tongue!" Sorelli scolded her. "If La Carlotta or the managers hear you-!"

"Sorelli, what's wrong?" Meg asked. "You've been out of sorts lately, especially now that Angelique-"

"Don't start," she cut her off. "I don't want to hear another word about that seamstress."

"But Sorelli!" Jammes exclaimed. "How can you not like Angelique?!"

"Because that's all you and Philippe ever talk about!" she all but shouted, gasping in embarrassment as she realized she had said too much. "Oh dear, I mean-"

"You're _jealous_!" Louise and Cosette exclaimed accusingly.

"D-Don't be absurd!" she stammered. "What's there to be jealous about? And why do you care anyways? What makes her so special?"

"Well, she lets us come in and watch her work," Charlotte offered.

"She enjoys having dinner with us and tells us stories," Louise added.

"She lets us try on the beautiful costumes!" Jammes sighed.

"And she's very kind to us all," Meg finished off. "Besides, I would not be worried about _Monsieur le Comte_. She explicitly stated she has no interest in being with him whatsoever."

"Which is precisely why I think Cosette may be right!" Jammes spoke again. "What if Angelique likes the Opera Ghost, and he likes her?!"

"I think you need your minds washed out with good soap – you've been getting too enthralled with the operas we put on," Sorelli scoffed.

Having heard more than enough, Erik stalked away from the ballet rats' quarters, his mind spinning with all the absurd assumptions the girls had made about him and Angelique. Angelique love _him_, the living corpse?! He shook his head, attempting to push the notion into the back of his mind, along with the irritating thought that Philippe de Chagny was interested in her. He had seen him the day Angelique returned, fussing and begging her to return to his home with him. She had refused – of course she would, she wanted to come home to Erik, obviously – and sent him away as politely as she could…but to have Angelique fall in love with him…?  
He silently fought with the notion as he returned to the catacombs, mindlessly following the paths towards the lake. Could it really be possible…? After all, he was currently trying to get Christine to love him, but it was so difficult with her, she absolutely refused anything he tried to do. She was warming up to him, certainly, but she showed no real signs of romantic interest-

"Stop!"

Erik nearly tripped over himself as he heard Angelique's voice echo throughout the cellars, her cry full of fear and panic. _"Angelique…?"_

"You have no idea how long we've been looking for you, wench," growled another voice, vaguely familiar to Erik. Where had he heard it before…?

"Maurice, I swear, if you don't leave me al-AGH!"

The man's cruel laughter bounced off the catacomb walls. "What? Something terrible will happen to me? _Au contraire_, Angie, I'm going to have a lovely time with you. You can't run away from me this time…oh, but don't worry. I promised Mother I would be good and only damage you a little bit. After all, you have to be able to get back to work once we get you ho-ACK!"

No sooner had the words left the man's mouth, a sleek object flew through the air and landed with deadly precision around his neck, choking all the air out of him as he had done so to Angelique only moments prior. Erik, in a blur of rage, had pulled out his Punjab lasso from his belt and found them at once, near the steps of the dock by the lake. Angelique was turning blue as she gasped for air, the horrible man known as Maurice kneeling over her, one thick hand around her throat, the other undoing his belt as he prepared to take her. In a matter of seconds, however, the hunter became the hunted.

"You would harm _my_ Angelique, would you?" Erik hissed in his ear as he tightened the rope around Maurice's neck. "Beat her, rape her, take her away from Erik, would you? You would kill her, too, Erik knows that much. Well, now Erik shall make sure that none of those things ever happens again!" With a sharp yank, he could hear the man's neck snap, his head slumping off in an unnatural position before he collapsed face down, his body merely inches from the edge of the dock. Slipping the noose from the culprit's head, he tucked it back into his belt before giving a powerful shove and dumping the body into the water.

A strangled cough caught his attention instantly, making him swivel around to see Angelique clutching her throat. "Angelique!" he gasped, running to her side and falling to his knees. "Angelique, let Erik look at you-" He gasped once more as she flung her arms around him, coughing and weeping and shaking all at once. "A-Angel-?"

"E-Erik," she croaked, hot tears sliding down her face as she gasped deeply for air. "O-Oh…Erik…thank God!" She hid her face into his chest, using one hand to grip the lapels of his jacket. She inhaled his scent – Persian spices, ink, a faint hint of decay, and roses – and wrapped her free arm around his neck to support her, her entire being shaking from the ordeal. "…you came…for me…"

"I-I shall always come for you," he whispered, his heart leaping within his chest as he hesitantly embraced her, cradling her head against his neck. "Oh, my dear Angelique," he sighed, resting his cheek upon her head. "Erik was so worried he would lose you…" Seeing how she clung to him, he cautiously slipped an arm beneath her legs and stood, carrying her as though she were his bride. Glancing at the boat, he shook his head. _"No…I shan't let go of her."_ Moving down the path, he found the hidden door he had shown to Christine nearly a half hour ago, and slipped through the passage.

She did not protest of fight him as he walked through the darkened tunnel and finally arrived at the house. She sniffled now, her sobs becoming more subdued as she focused on breathing, but her body still trembled. He stroked her hair as he entered the house, stopping as he realized what he was doing. "Erik is sorry," he said softly. "He will not touch if you-"

"Don't let go of me," she begged, sending him staggering. "Please Erik…!" She began to weep once more, causing him to hug her tightly to his chest as he carried her off to her room. Glancing at Christine's door, he noticed how the light was off and all was silent.

"_She's asleep,"_ he nodded, relieved. He entered Angelique's room, shutting the door with his elbow before taking her to the bed and lying her down. "Shh…hush, Angelique," he murmured, pulling the covers up to drape over her body. "You are safe now. Erik shan't let anything harm you ever." He sat on the edge of the bed beside her, stroking her hair with one hand while he gently placed the other on her neck, checking the bruises that had already begun to form. She whimpered under his touch but did not flinch from him, making his heart swell with happiness and longing. _"She does not flinch from Erik's touch, but from the horror of that…that monster."_ His eyes blazed in the darkness of the room as he remembered what had occurred. _"That…animal-!"_

"Erik?"

His attention immediately snapped down to her, his gaze softening. "Yes? What is it, my dear?"

"Stay with me…please?" she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes as she stretched out her hand to him.

He grasped it at once, pressing his lips to it fervently. A sudden desire filled him, and he forced the request out of his mouth. "Angelique…Erik would like to…to…kiss you…your forehead," he quickly corrected himself, blushing and silently cursing himself.

She smiled at him, a weak laugh escaping her. "Go on, then," she said.

Swallowing nervously, he leaned forward, his heart racing a thousand miles a minute, until he finally felt his lips touch her skin. She squeezed his hand, sending his blood flying through his veins as he let his mouth linger on her. Pulling away, he sighed, his own eyes tearing. "Erik has kissed a woman…and she did not die."

"You're not the one who's trying to kill me," she jested, wincing as her throat throbbed in pain.

"What happened?" he inquired, placing his hand over hers.

"I was walking back the way you showed me when I thought I saw someone moving in the shadows. I thought it was you and I called out, but then _he_ came out…I was so frightened, Erik. I really thought I was going to…to…die."

"No, Angelique," he whispered, pulling her into his arms again as she stared to weep once more. "Erik shall never let that happen…" He let his fingers run through her hair, unable to stop himself from the temptation, especially since she made no protest or request for him to stop. "Hush, Angelique, you're safe now…" Presumptuously, he kissed the top of her head, shivering as she sighed and relaxed against him. Opening his mouth, he tenderly sang,

"_How I wandered through the darkness, wallowed in pity and shame,_

_Until you came and graced me, oh yes, you are to blame…_

_My soul awakes at your voice, my heart flies at your smile,_

_So let me remain here with you, if just for a little while…"_

"Erik…that's beautiful," she murmured, her eyelids fluttering as she felt herself slip into unconsciousness. "Is that from _'Don Juan Triumphant'_?"

"…it is now," he confessed, feeling her succumb to sleep, content in his arms. _"Yes, Angelique, it is now part of_'Don Juan'_…as are you."_

**~OG~**

Angelique moaned as she awoke, rubbing her eyes as she forced herself to sit up. She grimaced at the pain in her neck, touching it tenderly. Getting up, she cleaned herself and got dressed, leaving her room and entering the dining room, her eyes widening in awe as she saw the table was already set with food.

"Good morning," Erik said, motioning for her to enter. "Hungry?"

"Yes…Erik, did Christine make this?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Certainly not. Have you not seen the girl's cooking?" he asked, earning a laugh out of Angelique. "No, Erik made it…and Christine is not here."

"She's not?" she asked when it hit her. "Oh…oh, you let her go!" She beamed, running to Erik and embracing him tightly. "Oh, Erik!"

"Erik promised after all, did he not?" he said gruffly, though he was greatly enjoying his hug. "Have a seat, Angelique, and eat. You need your strength."

"You're right," she smiled wryly. "I want to get your costume finished before the Masquerade."

"May Erik see it?" he asked gleefully.

"No. It's a surprise," she winked, giggling as he pouted. "It should be ready by tonight."

"You also need your own costume," he noted, helping her into her seat.

"I've already gotten started. It's much simpler than yours," she reassured him. As they ate, her brows furrowed as she remembered a certain detail she had completely forgotten about the night before. "Erik?"

"Hmm?" he asked, sipping his tea.

"…what happened to Maurice?"

He set his cup down, his stomach churning. Raising his eyes from the table, he looked at her and answered honestly, "Erik…disposed of the creature you call 'Maurice'." He glowered at the wall, linking his fingers together as he set his chin atop them, vividly remembering what the man had attempted to do on Angelique's life.

"…I'm glad."

He blinked, his eyes snapping back to her face, seeing tears in them once more. "Angelique?"

"God forgive me, but I'm glad you stopped him, and to be frank, I'm glad he'll never come after me again," she wept into her hands. "I would watch him at my father's house, Erik – he abused women, even the prostitutes he brought in. The only women he never dared to touch were his sister and mother…the night I ran away was the night he tried to attack me, but I managed to slip out…and with that attempt he did last night…oh, God help, I'm glad he doesn't exist anymore! I'm awful!"

"Angelique," he spoke softly, rising from his seat and going to her. Kneeling beside her, he took her hands from her face and covered them with his, kissing each one. "You are not awful, Angelique._He_ was awful, but he shall not harm you again…_no one_ shall harm you again."

"Thank you," she sniffled, letting him brush her tears away with his knuckles. "…though I hope you realize that I won't appreciate you going on a killing spree should I argue with someone about something as trivial as which opera performance is better or worse."

He laughed, shaking his head. "_Non, mon cher_. You know what Erik means."

She nodded, blushing as he kissed her hands again. "Yes, I know…thank you, Erik." Bending her head, she pressed her lips to his head, hearing him gasp in shock as she did so. "You deserve that much, at the very least." Slipping off of her chair so that she might embrace him once more, she murmured, "You deserve all the happiness the world can offer, Erik…all that and more."

"_Erik might have found it,"_ he thought blissfully, resting his chin upon her head. _"…He just might have found it."_


	12. Masked Misery

**Chapter Twelve - Masked Misery**

The day of the Masque Ball came suddenly, the _Palais Garnier_ set abuzz with excitement and glee. The ballet girls were chattering on as if there was no tomorrow, delighted that Angelique could add her own touches in their costumes and masks, and Monsieur Monchamin was most satisfied with his dragon mask, paying Angelique handsomely for her troubles.

As Angelique gathered several items to take back to Erik's home, she was startled by a knock at the door. "Who is it?"

"It's Christine, dear. May I come in?" said her visitor.

"Of course! Come in," she said, setting her items aside and tugging the door open for her friend.

Christine entered and shut the door after her, scanning the walls suspiciously. "Is there anyone…I mean, is he-?"

"If you're talking about Erik, no, I'm fairly certain he's downstairs, if you know what I mean," she said, not wishing for any passersby to hear their conversation. "How have you been these past few days?"

"Fine…wonderful," she answered, a half smile on her lips. "I'm enjoying my time here before…well, before I have to return."

Angelique patted her arm comfortingly. "I know it's difficult, but in time I'm sure he'll understand that it isn't mean to be between you two…not like this, anyways."

Christine nodded, smiling weakly before embracing her friend. "Thank you, Angelique. You're always so easy to talk to."

"That's what friends are for, aren't they?" she chuckled, squeezing the singer's hands as they pulled away. "I presume you have your costume and will attend the Ball?"

"Yes…I'll be there," she nodded, her eyes glistening for a moment. "I'll let you go then…Angelique?"

"Hmm?"

"…you really enjoy being with Erik?"

A soft smile worked its way onto her lips as she answered, "With all my heart. He's become so dear to me, Christine…I haven't been this happy since my parents were alive and well, together…"

Christine kissed her cheek and patted her arm. "Then I'm happy for you." With a small smile, she left the room, shutting the door behind her once more.

Alone at last, Angelique gathered her belongings once again and pressed the nail into the wood, entering the darkened halls and descending into the lair of Phantom.

**~OG~**

Having set his costume in his room, Angelique left for her quarters and locked herself in her room. Taking a quick bath and getting dressed, she left her curled hair draped over her shoulders before stepping out snatching her mask and heading for the Louis-Philippe Room. There, awaiting her arrival, was the Red Death.

"Oh, Erik!" she gasped, her face lighting up as he came into view. "You look incredible! The costume really suits you!"

"It does, does it not?" he beamed, giving the cape a dramatic swirl before announcing, "Do not touch me! I am the Red Death, stalking abroad!" He truly was a sight to behold, covered in scarlet velvet, golden ribbons, and black satin, a large plume-filled hat covering his head to accompany the skull-mask he had saved in his room. With a sword strapped to his side and knee-high boots to complete the look, he was a dashing devil to see.

Turning to thank her, his brows furrowed at her. "Angelique…what are you wearing?"

"My costume," she answered quickly, walking away from him. "Shall we go?"

"No, we shall not," he said, stopping her in her tracks. "…you put so much time and effort taking care of others' costumes that you did not take time for yourself."

"I'm Cinderella, Erik," she insisted, blushing as she struggled to stand her ground. She was so busy and concerned for the others' costumes and masks, especially Erik's, that she had taken an old dress, patched it up, and wore it with a brown mask and grey flats.

"While your imitation of _Cendrillon_ is…impressive," he said carefully, stroking his chin. "Erik happens to have something up his sleeve."

"And that is?" she asked, cocking her head at him.

Curling his forefinger towards himself, he motioned for her to follow him, stepping into his room and pulling out a large box. "Erik bought this just in case…he hopes you will wear it," he said rather shyly, offering her to box.

Curious, she accepted, tugging the lid of the box off. Her eyes widened and a gasp escaped her as she dropped the lid onto the floor. "Oh, Erik…you didn't-!"

"This is the Cinderella Erik envisioned you to be," he said, pulling the brim of his hat over his face. "…will you wear it-?"

"Yes, of course!" she laughed, embracing him at once. "Oh, thank you!"

"Angelique? Would you…attend the Ball with Erik?"

"I thought that was what we were doing anyways," she smirked.

"Erik means…as a pair."

She blinked, her face turning red. "O-Oh…"

"Erik understands if-" he began.

"No! Erik, I would love to," she interrupted him, touching his arm. "Just…give me a moment to change, won't you?" With that, she ran off with the box, he heart fluttering within her breast. _"Could it be…?"_

**~OG~**

There was not a single person who did not stop and stare at them as they entered the foyer. They were a strange combination – the sinister, crimson skeleton stalking into the room appeared to be a demon from hell, and yet, beside him stood a vision in white, as if she had fallen from Heaven to join in the festivities. Angelique blushed as she let Erik lead her into the room, feeling all eyes on her. She had pinned some of her auburn hair back so that it would not fall over her sparkling, silvery mask that glittered like a thousand stars, matching with the tiara she wore upon her head and the crystal clear slippers that she kept on her feet. Her gown was a gossamer white hue, flowing around her legs as she walked, her neck and arms exposed as a loose, sheer material hung loosely around her upper arms.

"Erik, they won't stop staring," she whispered, suddenly feeling his arm around her.

"Let them," he whispered in her ear, placing one hand upon her waist and grasping her left hand with his other. "You were meant to be admired."

"Erik," she whined softly, blushing as he chuckled.

"Dance," he commanded.

He guided her, leading her all around the room, making her feel as though she was flying. Everything around them seemed to melt away as she let him take charge, spinning and gliding before the crowds. Looking into his eyes, she felt as though the magic of this night would never end…

"The death's head of Perros-Guirec!"

The voice brought Erik to a halt, startling Angelique. Erik's head whipped around, his eyes landing on a pair, one man, one woman, each in their own domino costumes. The young woman tugged at the young man's arm and forced him to follow her, frantically whispering something to him. Angelique felt her body become cold, her stomach twisting within her. "Erik-?"

"I shall return," he growled. "Wait here."

She reached for his arm but he moved too quickly, a sharp pang running through her heart as she watched him leave. A foolish, drunken man reached out, mocking the saying she had sewn and embroidered on his cape, only to have Erik crush his wrist for an instant before vanishing into the corridors, in search of the black and white dominos. It was as though a bucket of cold water had been splashed on her, rudely awakening her from a what felt like a beautiful, fleeting dream.

"Of course…Christine," she whispered, realizing who the two dominos were. Hugging her arms, she bit her lip, struggling not to cry. Why, oh why did she want to cry so badly? Why did it hurt her so much? Unwilling to be caught by anyone, she gathered her skirts and ran up the stairs of the grand foyer, her destination already in mind. She ran as quickly as she could, nearly tripping over the last step in her haste. Without any further delays, she hurried past the velvet-lined and glittering opera, beyond the forbidden Box Five and its neighbors, past the managers' office and into the abandoned backstage world of the performers. Navigating through the twists and turns of the dressing rooms, props, and beams, she yanked the door open to her workroom and collapsed onto her cot, burying her face in her arms and pillow, crying her heart out.

"_Why?! Why does it matter?! You should have known better, you foolish girl…he loves Christine…he wants Christine…oh God, I've fallen in love with the Ghost…the Ghost who loves the angelic singer…oh why did I have to go and fall in love with him?!"_

She wept on and on, never stopping for a moment's breath when she sensed a presence in the room. Raising her head, she found herself being watched by a handsome man dressed in a prince's fine suit, swiping his hat off of his head to kneel before her. "Wh-Who are you? What are y-you doing in here-?" she demanded to know, struggling to regain control of herself as she wiped her face with her fingertips.

"Angelique…it is I, Philippe," said the man tenderly, offering her a handkerchief.

"Ph-Philippe?!" she gasped, sitting upright and scooting away from him. "But…but how did you know-?"

"When I saw you enter, the loveliest woman in the room, I knew it was you," he chuckled, still offering her the kerchief, which she reluctantly accepted. "Also, I followed you back here. When I saw you moving to the workroom, it only strengthened my belief that it truly was you…also, you left this." His left hand, which had been hiding behind his back, came forth, with one of her slippers in it.

She gasped, looking down at her feet. Sure enough, one of them was missing. _"It must have come off when I tripped on the stairs…"_

"May I?" he offered, motioning for her to stick out her foot.

Cautiously, she did so, watching him slip the shoe back on.

"There. Perfect," he smiled, standing up once more. "Now…who was that man that made you cry?"

"_Pardon_?" she asked, averting her eyes.

"I do hope you can forgive me for being so forward, _mademoiselle_, but what else could be the cause of your grief? I saw you both dancing together…and how he abandoned you there." He frowned at this, holding back a growl. "Who is this man?"

"I…I don't know, _monsieur_," she lied, removing her mask from her face and setting it upon her pillow.

"How can you not know? You came in together-" he protested.

"He offered to walk me in," she fibbed smoothly. "Then asked for a dance."

"Then why are you crying?"

"I…I miss my father," she answered, getting up and walking to the stocked shelves. "_Monsieur le Comte_, I'm sure you have better things to do than follow me around and check upon my well being. You should go back to the party."

"Will you join me?" he asked, his tone tinted with hope.

"No, forgive me," she shook her head. "I'm not in the mood for a party at the moment."

"I understand," he answered quietly. He remained still, watching her run her fingers over the bolts of cloth and applications, his throat dry with anxiety. "…Mademoiselle Archambault, I-"

"Please, monsieur, don't let me hold you back from the Ball," she interrupted him. "Go and-"

"I'm worried for you," he blurted out. "And I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since the day we first met."

Her head whipped around so that she might gawk at him, utterly stunned. "W-What?"

"Forgive me, Angelique, but I care very deeply for you," he confessed, taking a step towards her.

"But…but what about La Sorelli?" she asked, hugging her arms as she backed herself against the wall. "Surely, she must be important to you if-"

"I only think of you." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he said, "For the longest time, I was interested in Sorelli, but when you came in…it was as though an invisible arrow struck through my heart. After finding out about your stepfamily, and seeing you crying like this…please, Angelique, let me take you away from all this."

She stood her ground, looking him in the eye, and shook her head, her eyes mournful. "…I can't, _monsieur_. I can't and I won't."

"Why not?!" he demanded, coming towards her. She did not flinch, nor did she change her mind. "Please, at least tell me…is it someone else?"

She shook her head. "There is no one…but I do not wish to be told what to do any longer…I hope you can forgive me, but I cannot return your feelings, as I do not have any towards you other than the highest regards, as well as my opinion that you are a good man and a trustworthy friend."

He stepped back, the words sinking in slowly. Heaving a defeated sigh, he nodded. If she changed her mind, he would be waiting and willing to take her, but he would not force her to think any differently for his behalf. "Very well…know that I shall always offer you solace in my home, as well as my…friendship." Taking her hand in his, he kissed it and bowed, silently leaving her in peace.

She waited until she was certain he was gone, his footsteps no longer audible in the halls. Shutting the door, she pulled out a box from under her bed and opened it, revealing a plain working dress she had stored in case of an emergency. She set to work quickly, taking off the mocking, wretched, beautiful gown she gown and slipping on her frock. Lovingly, she placed her costume into the box and stuffed it under the bed once more, wiping away her tears with Philippe's kerchief. Stuffing it into her pocket, she looked around and saw the unfinished gowns. Eager to be distracted, she got to work immediately, cutting, stitching, measuring, comparing…

So enthralled in her work, she did not hear the trapdoor slide open or hear the figure enter the room.

"Angelique."

The voice made her freeze, dropping her needle and thread as she heard him walk towards her.

"Angelique, what happened to the dress?" Erik asked, taking his hat off his head.

"…I put it away," she answered quietly, picking up the needle once more and forcing herself to work again.

"Didn't you like it?" he inquired, his brows furrowing as she continued about her business and did not face him.

"I adore it, but I wanted to work a little more, so I put it away."

He wrung his hands together, guilt bubbling within him. "Erik apologizes he was away so long-"

"How's Christine?" she asked innocently, making him stop in his tracks.

He frowned, counter-attacking with his own question. "Why didn't you come home straight away?"

"As I said, I was working…besides, you have Christine." A tear slid down her face, though she controlled her voice as best as she could. "She should be able to keep you company until I-"

"Damn it all, Angelique, what's the matter with you?!" he snapped, thrusting his cape aside and grabbing hold of her arm. "Stop playing coy with Erik-!"

"Let go!" she demanded, wriggling in his grasp. "Erik, you're hurting me!"

"You are coming back _now_!" he snarled, starting to drag her towards the secret door. "Erik wants you back now-"

"_You're hurting me_!" she all but screamed, tears running down her face as she hit his arm feebly as so not to hurt him.

He stopped, one foot in the doorway, the other in the workroom. His eyes were large as he stared at her, her words shaking him to the core. He couldn't fathom their effect, not now, while she remained on her knees, avoiding his face, crying all the while. His eyes moved to his hand, harshly gripping her wrist, her fingers curled in agony and determination. Like an iron trap, he unlatched his hand from her, watching her fall to the floor and cover her face, weeping at his feet. The sight brought back memories from when he first brought Christine as she lay before him in agony at the knowledge that he was no angel. He had let Angelique down somehow…and the pain shot through him like a knife. "An-…Angelique-?"

"Just go," she begged in a whisper, her body racked with sobs.

His heart ached at the sight of her, wanting to wrap his arms around her…but he stood away, bowing his head shamefully and leaving her behind. He had hurt her, so he would not touch her, nor would he force her to come back…he wanted her to do that of her own accord. Shutting the door from his side, he listened to her cries, his soul crying out within him to go back and be with her. He hadn't the faintest idea what could have upset her after going off to figure out what that bratty Vicomte and Christine-

"_That's it."_ His eyes widened in shock as it hit him – he had abandoned her, looking for Christine, the one hope he continued to cling to, and then expected her to be perfectly fine with it. _"Why wouldn't she be? She is Erik's_ friend, _after all…unless…"_ He shook his head. _"Impossible. She could not possibly think of him that way…especially not now."_ Casting a baleful look at the shut door, he pulled out a golden band from his pocket. It shone dully in the torchlight of the corridor, just like his hopes for either of the two young women in his life. He had intended for this ring to be given to Christine once he returned home and found her back in her room, as she had promised…but after seeing Angelique in the dress…after dancing, after all this time together…after seeing her cry…he began to doubt.

Shoving the trinket back into his coat pocket, he trudged his way back home, confused and weary.


	13. Change the Script

**Chapter Thirteen - Change the Script**

"Where's Angelique?" Christine asked as she entered the dining room the next morning.

"Not here," Erik growled, a foul mood permeating off of his being.

"…oh," she said, suddenly wary of the Phantom's disposition. "…well, I suppose-"

"Go."

"What?" she asked, stunned.

"Go, Christine. Go to Mamma Valerius, to the opera, to _Raoul_," he sneered, causing her to wince. "I do not want you back here unless you wish to return of your own free will."

She blinked, unable to believe what she heard. "…you mean that?"

"Yes," he hissed, encompassed in a black aura as he got up and stormed out.

Christine flinched as he slammed the door of his room, the organ suddenly thundering to life. "Oh dear," she whispered.

**~OG~**

Angelique rubbed the sleep out of her eyes as she awoke, her face sticky from tears. Though her stomach grumbled, she remained under the covers, drawing them over her head. She had absolutely no desire to do anything, to see anyone…

The sound of the secret door opening made her jump, her body rigid as she sat up to see who was her early visitor. A breath of relief escaped her as she saw a small, blonde figure step into the room. "Christine…"

"Angelique, I hope I didn't wake you," she apologized, the aroma of breakfast wafting out of her basket. "I thought we might eat and talk together…won't you come to my dressing room with me-? Heavens! What happened?! Have you been crying?!"

"W-What? N-No, no, of course not," she stammered, touching her face. "Why, what's wrong?"

"Your eyes are red," she said, helping her stand. "Did you have a nightmare?"

"Yes," she lied quickly. "Yes, an nightmare…about all sorts of strange things."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Christine asked, wrapping an arm around her.

"No…I can't really remember what happened…it just frightened me, that's all I know." She didn't dare utter a word about her feelings for Erik and how he had unconsciously reminded her that he still longed for Christine. "Let's go to your room, Christine. I need to walk, I'm feeling a bit stiff."

"Of course," she nodded. The two of them linked arms and left the room, walking past several stagehands as they prepared themselves for another day of work. Excusing themselves, they arrived at the dancers' hallway, waving to several girls as they got up and hurried to find breakfast. Passing La Carlotta and La Sorelli's rooms, Christine opened the door to her dressing room and ushered her friend inside.

"Make yourself comfortable," she encouraged her, locking the door before tugging a small table over and setting the basket upon it. "I'm so glad I found you. There's so much I want to say before I go-"

"Go? Go where?" Angelique asked, stunned by the news.

"I'm going to see Mamma Valerius," Christine explained with a smile. "I'm sure she's quite worried, even with Erik's notes."

"Oh, that will be nice," Angelique said, offering a tired smile to Christine. "What is it you wanted to talk about?"

The blonde girl removed the cloth that covered the warm baguette and several slices of bacon. Setting it upon the table, she sighed. "Angelique…I saw Raoul last night."

"Did you?" she asked, remembering how Erik had gone running after them the moment they appeared. "How did that go?"

"He's…he's insisting to know what's been going on," she confessed, offering her tea from the pot she had brought along. "He's desperately worried for me…he told me that his brother's quite concerned about you, actually."

"Oh?" Angelique asked, accepting her cup of tea.

"They're offering you sanctuary at their home until you find out what's happened with your uncle," she prodded on.

"Yes, I know," she nodded, buttering her bread.

Christine stared hard at her, making Angelique avert her eyes. "…you're not interested in Philippe de Chagny whatsoever, are you?"

"Not in the least," she answered honestly. "He's very kind, but I don't want to be told what to do anymore. I like being here."

"_Mon Dieu_," Christine muttered, eager to get away from the place.

"Wait a moment – Erik's letting you leave?" Angelique asked, remembering what Christine had mentioned moments before.

"Yes! He told me I could go," she beamed. "O-Of course, I shall return once I've had some time to myself with Mamma."

"Ah."

"…Angelique, what happened to you and Erik?" the singer asked gently.

"What?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at Christine. "What do you mean-?"

"You didn't come to Erik's house last night, and he was in a rather foul mood when I left," she informed her. "He started playing some frightening tune on his organ. I find you in your workroom with your eyes red…what's wrong? He didn't hurt you, did he?!"

"No, of course not." _"Yes…yes, he did."_ "Really Christine, I'm fine. I just started working on some of the new costumes for _Faust_ and got carried away. I didn't want to go stumbling in the dark, so I stayed in the room."

"Well…I do hope you'll go back to Erik soon," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'm worried about leaving him alone in such a state…he might hurt someone, or even himself!"

"I'll visit him," she answered, though she never stated when. "I promise."

**~OG~**

He swallowed another mouthful of the wine, glaring at the dark wall before him. Swishing the liquid in his glass as he tilted his wrist, he played a few mournful notes on the piano, his heart aching. "Imbécile," he muttered to himself, setting the glass down before hiding his unmasked face in his hands. "Erik has sent Christine away and frightened off Angelique…he shall never see them again…" Reaching for the edge of the piano, he plucked the note and rose he had gathered, gripping them tightly in his long, thin hand.

"_There's always hope,"_ a little voice within him chimed. _"Just take these to her and apologize."_

"Bah," he scoffed. "Apologize? Why should Erik do such a thing?"

"_You ought to."_

He frowned, wallowing in sorrow. "How could she forgive Erik for hurting her…for leaving her…?"

"_You never know until you try."_

Grumbling in frustration, he forced himself off of his perch and grabbed his mask, fixing his cravat before slipping his gifts into his jacket pocket. Snatching his cloak and hat, he ran out of the house and headed for the secret tunnel, not wanting to waste any time rowing across the lake. He moved faster than he ever had before, turning and bounding up and down stairways and corridors as though his life depended on it. Arriving at the door which led to Angelique's room, he placed his hand on the lever when he heard a familiar voice on the other side.

"I am glad to see you are well."

"And I'm very glad to see you, Daroga," Angelique cheerfully answered.

"_Daroga!"_ Erik peeped through the hole in the wall, observing the two as they embraced. Jealousy instantly bubbled within his chest, his hands moving for the Punjab lasso at his belt.

"He let you go after all this time, then?" the Persian asked, stroking his beard in interest as he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Of course he did, he's not a monster," she answered lightly, unknowingly stabbing Erik through the chest. "I told you there was nothing to worry about-"

"Angelique, I have- Oh!" Madame Giry stood by the door and envelope in her hands. She stared at the Persian in disbelief. "…I did not realize you hand company."

"Oh, Madame Giry, meet Daroga. Daroga, meet Madame Giry," she introduced them, watching in amusement as the Persian bowed politely and Madame gave her usual curtsy, the two of them eyeing each other uncertainly. "Is something the matter?"

"No, I only came to leave this with you," Juliette Giry said, handing the envelope to the girl. "The Comte de Chagny asked that I give it to you."

"He did?" she asked, her brows furrowing as she accepted the item.

"I'll leave you to your work," Giry said kindly, excusing herself.

Once she was gone, the Daroga cleared his throat. "Since you are well, I shall also take my leave."

"Thank you for checking on me," she smiled, ushering him out. "Do stop by again."

"I shall, you can be certain of that," he nodded, bowing to her before walking down the hallway.

She watched him leave, smiling wryly as he appeared to vanish amongst the pillars and beams towards the back of the opera. "How does he manage to get away wandering about like that…?" she chuckled, shaking her head as she ripped the letter open. Shutting the door after her, she sat on her bed and read its contents, the light in her eyes dimming. With a sad smile, she slipped the letter under her pillow when another item at the foot of her bed caught her attention. Her eyes widened as she saw a glorious red rose, bursting in full bloom, lying atop a sealed envelop. Taking the flower in her fingers, she sniffed it, smiling at its fragrance. Setting it aside, she broke the wax seal on the paper and opened it.

"_Dearest Angelique,_

_Erik is terribly sorry for having hurt you, in more ways than one it would appear. He understands that you are upset and will respect your wishes, but he hopes you will forgive him, perhaps not now, but someday._

…_Erik cannot lie, he misses your presence and wishes you would return. Life is meaningless, dead, without you in it. You are the only friend Erik has that he truly depends on and cares for, and he is heartbroken for abusing your trust._

_Please accept this rose as a mere token of Erik's undying concern and gratitude._

_Your humble and obedient servant,_

_O.G."_

"Oh Erik," she whispered, her smile growing as she read the paper and pressed it to her breast. Shaking her head, she glanced around, saying nothing as she set the paper aside and walked towards her latest project.

"Angelique…"

She gasped, spinning around as she heard his voice softly call her from the hidden door in the wall. "Erik?!"

"Angelique…" he spoke again, his voice low and mournful. "Erik is…very, very sorry."

"Erik, do come out of there," she insisted, walking towards the wall.

"Erik is not here," the wall informed her.

Rolling her eyes, she pressed the nail into the wall and waited for the door to slide open, a gasp escaping her as she saw that he truly wasn't there. "Erik?!"

"Yes?" he said, making her spin around with a squeak of fright.

"Erik, where are you?!" she demanded, her eyes scanning the room.

"Here," the desk called out to her.

"Or here," the ceiling suggested.

"No, here!" shouted the suit she had just finished.

"Erik!" she called, struggling to hide her laughter, forcing a frown on her face. "Just where are-?" She caught a snicker behind the suit, a grin growing on her lips. Walking towards it, she peeked behind it and smirked. "I suppose you wanted to make sure that I received your note?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Erik couldn't contain his laughter as he looked up at her. "Oh, oh, Angelique! Your face when…you…the door-!" he clutched his sides, shaking as he laughed. He was grateful he had crouched behind the mannequin in the shadows, for he laughed so hard he thought he might topple over.

Despite being irritated, she laughed with him, having missed his voice and presence. "Erik, you're just awful!"

Wiping the tears off of his mask, he inhaled deeply, struggling to regain control as he slowly stopped laughing. "Ah…yes, Erik is awful," he agreed, sighing as he stood up. The smile was gone from his face as he looked at her, his eyes showing all the sadness in the world. "Angelique…about last night…Erik-"

"I read your note, Erik," she said, shyly tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "…thank you, for the apology and the flower."

He allowed himself a small smile, hesitantly taking her hand in his. Raising it to his mouth, he pressed it to his lips. "…will you come home?"

"Yes, just not now," she shook her head. "It will look strange if I vanish in the middle of the day. I'll be back tonight, I promise."

"Angelique," he started, pausing for a second. "…you are not…mad with Erik anymore?"

She hugged her arms, shaking her head. "No, Erik…I'm not mad with you. I _can't_ stay mad at you…but it did hurt. I mean, I thought that we-" _"That we might have had a chance."_ "-That we were going to have a nice time together, and you suddenly go off and leave me alone. I didn't I would be bothered so much by it, but I was. It hurt, Erik, that's why I was upset."

He bowed his head, ashamed of himself, when he felt her embrace him. "But I just can't stay at you, Erik…you're all I have now."

A gasp was stuck in his throat as he felt her arms around him, her words ringing in his ears. She depended on him…she admitted it. Embracing her back, he whispered, "Erik shall make it up to you. He shall make supper this time."

"That's not necessary," she giggled, resting her head against his chest. "But thank you, I would like that." Pulling away from him, she clasped her hands together and said, "…I received a letter from the Comte de Chagny."

"I heard," he grumbled, his blood curdling at the thought of the man.

"Of course you did," she smirked. Her grin faded as she took his hand – making his heart flutter uncontrollably – and led him to her bed. Taking the letter from under the pillow, she handed it to him. "It's a letter from my Uncle Pierre that he forwarded."

He took it from her, reading the message.

"_Monsieur le Comte de Chagny,_

_I cannot express my delight at hearing the news. If what you say is true that my little brother's daughter is well and staying at the_Palais Garnier_, then I ask that you keep watch over her. As you know, I am quite ill – my faithful butler is currently writing this letter at my request. While my sickness is not contagious, it is too long and tiresome a journey to ask that you send her this way, especially in this winter weather. If she is happy at the opera, then I ask that she remain there until I am well enough to return._

_My little brother, Angelique's father, and I had a spat the last time we spoke, which is why she has never seen me…we were never able to reconcile in person before he passed away, but we did exchange letters. I have thought of her often but was unable to contact the family she was staying with. At last, God has granted me a second chance to redeem myself._

_Please send my love to Angelique, and ask her to forgive me for taking so long to find her. You have my eternal thanks, monsieur._

_Sincerely,_

_Comte Pierre Alexandre Louis Archambault."_

"The poor man," Angelique whispered, shaking her head.

Erik reread the letter, his fingers tightening their hold on the sheet. "…An-Angelique…" She raised her eyes to his, waiting expectantly. "…Erik has not always been the best person he could be, but…but he would like you to consider his home _yours_. A sanctuary, if you will…u-until your uncle can come for you."

Her face lit up at his words and she was upon him once more, burying her face into his chest. "_Merci_, Erik," she mumbled, her breath hot on his shirt.

He shuddered in unexpected ecstasy, curling his hands into fists as he gulped. "Mon Dieu, self-control, self-control…!" "Th-Think nothing of it," he choked, straightening and turning away as she released him from her arms. "Uhm…Erik shall fetch you tonight then." She nodded, her smile causing her face to glow. "V-Very well…until tonight." Pulling his cloak close to his chest, he hurried back through the tunnels, his breath coming out in spurts. His mind swirled with inspiration, his hands itching to _grasp "Don Juan Triumphant". "I need to make some additions…"_

**~OG~**

"That was delicious, Erik," Angelique beamed. "I'm afraid I'll burst!"

He chuckled, getting up and helping her collect the dishes. "_Merci_. Erik is glad you enjoyed the meal." He entered the kitchen with her and set the dirtied utensils into the sink, a strange sense of contentedness washing over him. He had calmed since he came back from seeing her that afternoon, working feverishly on his opera as well as making the evening meal for her. Now, with her standing beside him, he felt that all was right with the world once more, everything in balance. "…Angelique, Erik should like you to see an addition to _'Don Juan'_, as well as sing it."

"Me, sing a piece of opera?" she giggled, shaking her head. "I can't sing operatically, Erik."

"Erik shall be the judge of that," he said, shyly inching his hand to hers. "Please…?"

She sighed, a defeated smile on her lips. "Only for you, Erik."

His eyes widened as a beautiful smile grew on his lips. _"Only for you, Erik."_ How he wanted to take those words and grasp them to his heart for eternity! Taking her hand in his, he led her to his room, selecting one of the newest pages he had written. Placing it on the stand upon the organ, he motioned for her to sit beside him. She did so, her arm brushing against him, his hairs standing on end while his blood raced. "The tune goes like this," he said, eager to get his mind off certain topic that started rushing through his mind. He played it for her, watching out of the corner of his eye as her brows furrowed, showing that she was concentrating on the notes. He was still teaching her how to read music, but he noticed that if he played a tune a certain number of times, she would pick up on it and usually hit the notes on key. She had a remarkable memory and was able to pick up on the music rather quickly. "I'll play it again," he said, doing so on the organ keys, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin as he watched her nod her head in time with the music. "Again?"

"Once more, _s'il vous plait_," she requested. "I've almost got it."

He complied with her request and let her silently read the music. "Whenever you are ready."

She nodded, her signal to begin. Playing the note, he eagerly listened to her voice.

"_Though trial and pain you have put me through,_

_I cannot deny you love._

_I only can hope that you'll see in me_

_What you most desire, my J-"_

She stopped as she arrived at the last word, "_Juan_", his brows furrowing. "What's the matter? You were doing wonderfully-"

"I can't hit that note," she shook her head, biting her lip anxiously. "I'll choke, or maybe croak like La Carlotta."

He laughed at this, shaking his head. "They only way you would be able to croak like that is if I made you," he winked, casting his voice so that the inkwell on his desk declared, "co-ack!" He smiled as she giggled at this, placing his hand upon her shoulder comfortingly. "You needn't be afraid of Erik, Angelique. He is your friend and teacher, and you are doing very well for a beginner. Besides, Erik knows you can hit that note."

"How?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him with a playful grin on her lips.

"He has heard you sing it," he said confidently.

"When? Where?" she asked, skeptical.

"Just the other day, Erik heard you singing in the bath," he smirked, watching her blush. Immediately, he also began to blush. "Erm…Erik apologizes…"

"I thought I was alone…I was being silly and pretending I was Christine singing one of Margarita's parts," she confessed, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh dear…"

"Erik is sorry," he repeated, looking away. "But…Erik knows you can do it."

He heard her inhale deeply, and he began to wonder if he should stop the little lesson, when suddenly, her voice rang out,

"_Though trial and pain you have put me through,_

_I cannot deny you love._

_I only can hope that you'll see in me_

_What you most desire, my Juan!"_

Her voice bounced off the walls of his darkened room, running through him like ripples of water. She gasped for breath, her hand resting on her throat. "Oh…oh dear. I ruined it, didn't I-?"

"_Mon Dieu_, that was…perfect!" he exclaimed, his head whipping towards her, his eyes wide with awe, his voice breathless.

"Erik, it couldn't have been-" she shook her head.

"It was," he insisted, standing up, envisioning her voice as a soft, golden wisp of smoke twirling above him. "Your voice is not like Christine's, it's not operatic, it's true…but it is strong, warm, clear…like a bell…" He reached into the air, his fingers curling around the imaginary wisp as he closed his eyes in bliss. "…it filled Erik's soul, Angelique…"

She shivered at the tone of his voice, her eyelids fluttering close as she hugged her arms, now covered in goosebumps. Tilting her head downward, her chin pressed to her shoulder, she absorbed his praise and felt her skin tingle. Her heart thumped happily within her chest, her lips stretching into a smile.

Erik opened his eyes at last and turned towards Angelique when he saw her. His heart leapt, his throat dried, his eyes widened. She was a combination of innocence and sensuality, sitting beside him in pure bliss. Her hair curled over her shoulder, her neck and collarbone exposed, a modest amount of cleavage showing as she hugged herself. It was her lips, however, that caught his attention the most – curled upward in a smile, unpainted, ready to be kissed…His breath hitched as he saw this, forcing himself to look away. "Ah…Angel-?"

A loud ring shot through the air, making him stiffen. He growled, storming off.

"What is it?" she asked, opening her eyes and watching him leave.

"We have a visitor," he frowned. "And I'm fairly certain I know who it is." Stopping in his tracks, he cast her a reluctant glance. "Erik must go and greet our…guest, but…wait for him?"

"I'll be here," she smiled, getting up from the bench and moving towards him. Standing upon her tiptoes, she kissed his masked cheek and left for the kitchen. "I'll be doing the dishes!" she called out before vanishing.

Erik stood perfectly still, the thrill of the kiss washing over him. Weak at the knees, his vision slightly blurry, he struggled to fight off the daze before grabbing his cloak and hurrying outside. _"She kissed Erik,"_ he thought, a smile plastered to his face…until he saw a figure standing on the other side of his lake. The instantly disappeared, a scowl replacing it. "Damn it all, Daroga, Erik is busy! Go away!"

"Not until we talk, Erik," the man shouted back, crossing his arms over his chest.

Growling, Erik got in the boat and rowed furiously towards the other side, glaring at his not quite friend and not quite enemy. "This had better be important!"

"I'm concerned for Mademoiselle Archambault, Erik," he said, looking at him sternly. "It's not safe for her to linger about the opera with her stepfamily hovering around."

"Her stepfamily is not any of your concern," Erik huffed, waving him off. "I shall be taking care of her from now on."

"You cannot force her to-"

"But Erik _doesn't_, Daroga, don't you see?!" he all but shouted at the man, torn between wanting to laugh and strangle the man. Gripping his shirt, feeling his heart beating from within, he said softly, "Angelique _wants_ to be Erik. She comes freely, she smiles and laughs with Erik, she touches him…she kisses him," he whispered, touching his masked cheek.

The Persian's eyes appeared to pop out of his face when he heard the news. "K-Kisses-?!"

"Hands, forehead, cheek, Daroga. Nothing like…_that_," he shook his head, blush appearing under his mask. He sat on the pavement, looking back across the lake towards his home, a strange tingling sensation floating in his chest. "…for the first time in Erik's life, he feels…_alive_. He's happy…"

The Persian sat beside him, looking out in the same direction Erik did. "…then I am glad for you, Erik, truly…but do not use her."

"What?" he asked, facing the foreigner.

"Do not use her as you did with Miss Daae. Do not toy with her emotions," he warned him.

Erik laughed harshly. "Erik? Abuse her feelings? It is possible it could be the other way around…" His tone softened as he remembered her. "…but Angelique would not do such a thing."

"Angelique, hmm? She lets you call her by her first name?"

"Yes," he answered quietly.

They sat there for minutes, listening to the water lap against the dock. The cool air swirled around them as they sat silently, each raveled in his own thoughts. Erik contemplated his feelings for Angelique, especially after what the Daroga had said to him. Just what was she? They called each other friends, they treated each other kindly and argued as if they had always known one another, and yet, there were times – such as the moment they shared in his room by the organ – that he felt so inexplicably wonderful that he couldn't place it as just having friendly feelings for her. They were stronger at times than any sensation he got when he was with Christine…

"Erik."

"What?"

"This shan't be the last time you see me," he said gravely.

"No doubt of that," Erik grumbled, rolling his eyes.

"I shall leave you for now…" Getting up, the Persain bowed to Erik and walked away, soon swallowed by the shadows. "Remember Erik, don't abuse her trust or feelings."

Snarling at the final comment, his mood soured, the Phantom returned to his dinghy and got to work rowing back, eager to get away from his old acquaintance. "He doesn't know anything! Nosy Daroga," he muttered. "He should learn to mind his own business!"

When at last he arrived, he tied the boat to the dock and pulled the key from his pocket. Opening the door, he was struck with the sweet, thick aroma of chocolate, making him blink in awe. Shutting the door, he followed the scent into the dining room when he stopped at the sight of a large, luscious cake, the name "Erik" written with frosting and adorned with strawberries on the surface. There, standing beside it, was Angelique, her hair twisted into a sloppy bun atop her head as she smiled at him.

"Surprise, Erik."


	14. Little Distractions

**Chapter Fourteen - Little Distractions**

"A-Angelique?" he gaped, stunned by the surprise. "What is-?"

"Erik, when was the last time you ever celebrated anything? Your birthday? Christmas? Easter?" she inquired, reaching towards her hair and patting the back lightly, checking to make sure her bun was still intact.

He could only stare, stunned by the situation. "E-Erik does not celebrate…not like this." He could see patches of flour on her arms and cheek, a smudge of chocolate prominent on her chin and sleeve.

"Then it's high time we start," she beamed. "Let's celebrate!"

"Celebrate what?" he asked, still in shock.

"How about…our friendship?" she asked, shrugging innocently.

"Our…friendship?" he echoed, that strange tingly feeling returning to him. "…yes…Erik would like that."

She smiled shyly. "I've made some tea, too. Give me a moment to clean up and bring everything into the parlor, won't you?"

He nodded dumbly, unable to think. Leaving her to it, he went for the drawing room and sat down in his chair, the fire crackling lazily on the hearth. _"She made Erik a cake…she wants to celebrate with Erik…"_ He repeated it in his mind, the words becoming a mantra for him as he processed what she had said and done. He never had a cause to celebrate – his life was bleak, dark, and lonely, and there was no one with him to celebrate anything. How often he prayed for a wife to take out on Sundays, someone to come home to…and now, somehow, this incredible young woman was intertwined with his life.

Angelique popped in with the cake and set it on the coffee table beside them before running back and bringing out a tea tray. She had managed to clean her arms, but the smear of chocolate remained on her chin, her hair still trapped in a bun. Filling their teacups, she prepared it just the way Erik liked it – one cube of sugar and a whole lemon slice's worth of juice. "Shall we have a toast?"

"A toast?" he asked. "Oh! A toast, yes…a toast to…" He glanced at her, his heart warmed by the sight of her smile, her beautiful eyes set upon him. "…to friendship."

"To friendship," she chimed, clinking her cup delicately against his. She sipped her cup, holding it daintily in her palms. "Hmm…I needed that," she murmured, setting her cup down as she finished. "Would you like a piece of cake?"

"…Erik has never had a cake…not one made for him, anyways," he said quietly, stroking the rim of his cup. "…why did you make this?"

"Because you deserve it," she said, reaching for the knife and slicing through the rich pastry. "This was a recipe my mother used on my birthdays. I hope you like it."

"_I like anything you make,"_ he thought, watching her hands as she carefully cut the dessert, yelping as it broke in half and tumbled onto the plate.

"Sorry!" she grimaced. "It was so moist-"

He covered his mouth, struggling not to laugh as he watched her. "You are…amusing…and rather adorable when you squeak like that," he confessed, earning a pout out of her.

"I am not," she huffed, though she couldn't help smiling at his words. Adding a spoon to his plate, he offered him the treat and waiting until he scooped a piece of the cake into his mouth. "…did I get it right?"

The moment he placed the morsel in his mouth, his eyes closed in bliss, a delighted moan filling the air. The moist pastry was rich and sweet, balanced with the tartness of the strawberries. A smooth, thin layer of fudge lined the outside of the pastry, completing its perfection. "It is…delicious, Angelique…" His eyes began to water as he looked away, embarrassed. "…you made this all for Erik?"

"Of course I did," she said, cutting a piece for herself. Sitting upon the footstool before Erik, she took a bite and smiled. "Mmh! I got it after all…Mama would be…proud." Her voice drifted off, her eyes dimming.

"Angelique?"

"Yes Erik?" she said, facing him at once, eager for a distraction.

His hand moved towards her, pausing before her face. "You…you have something there," he explained, touching her chin.

"Oh," she blushed. "I'm a mess, aren't I?"

He shook his head, gazing tenderly at her. "_Non_…may I?"

"Thank you," she nodded.

With his shaking hand, he used his thumb to wipe the chocolate from her face, noticing how close it was to her lips. Absentmindedly, he reached for her hair.

"Erik-?"

"It is prettier when it's down," he said, stopping as he realized what he was doing. "Forgive Erik…he was too presumptuous-"

"Will you help me?" she asked, turning so that she faced the hearth, her exposed neck positioned towards him. "There are a few hairpins in there I can't quite reach," she lied, shivering in anticipation.

Swallowing, he let his fingers land lightly on her hair, grasping the pins and gently, slowly pulling them out. He dropped each of them onto the tea tray, their soft "plinks" and the crackle of the hearth the only sounds accompanying their breathing. He curled his fingers in her shining hair, leaning his face forward to inhale her scent – chocolate, rose bath salts, and clean linen. He helped her curled locks slowly tumble down, a cascade of auburn falling from her head and onto her shoulders, into his hands. He ran his fingers through one last time, savoring the feel of her satiny locks between each of his fingers. Letting a single curl fall from his hand, he forced himself to sit back into his seat and grip the armrests. "It is finished."

She turned about once more, facing him at last, her face framed with her beautiful hair. "Thank you," she said softly, tucking one particular strand away from her eyes.

He gave a curt nod, his fingers linked together while his chin rested atop his hands. He appeared to be in deep contemplation, so as not to bother him, Angelique took her cake and continued to silently eat.

"…you know very little of Erik, Angelique."

His voice, low and smooth, sent a shiver down her spine. "I'm not interested in your past, Erik, only your future."

The corner of his mouth twitched up as he shook his head. "_Merci_, child…however, Erik wishes you to know the truth."

Curious, she set her plate down and sat erect, placing her hands upon her knees as she gave him her full attention. "Very well, Erik. I'm listening."

He nodded, silent for a minute before he sighed deeply. "Erik's life is not pleasant, Angelique. Even Erik's own mother could not bear the sight of him – a mask was the first thing she clothed him with."

"Oh Erik," she whispered, now causing him to shiver.

"He ran away as a child, became part of a band of gypsies for a time…they were most unpleasant." His brows furrowed together as he remembered his time with them. "Erik became an attraction, a very amusing and terrible attraction."

Angelique looked away, biting her lip as she struggled not to cry out. It was no wonder he kept away from humanity, and it pained her, perhaps even more so than when he left her for Christine.

"Erik escaped and traveled the world for many years, going to Asia, Italy, India…and then Persia." His eyes moved to see her face. "Daroga told you of Erik's time in Persia, no?"

"He said you worked for the Shah and his daughter," she said, smoothing the wrinkles out of her skirt.

He nodded. "Daroga was the closest thing Erik could call a friend at the time…but even then, he does not trust him wholeheartedly," he smirked. "Rightly so…after a time, Erik escaped Persia and returned to France. He worked as an architect for a time and found his home here at the Opera House. He was quite content…and then, Christine came."

Already her stomach was in a knot, her eyes falling to his shoes. "You became her teacher?"

He nodded, the events flashing through his mind. "Yes…Christine filled a void in Erik's life with her voice…Erik simply had to go to her, but not as…_this_." He motioned to himself with his hand, a look of disgust growing on his face. Heaving a sigh of despair, he sunk deeper into his seat, covering his eyes with one hand. "…so he became an Angel she so desperately searched for…and for a time, Erik was very happy…until…"

She listened quietly, never saying anything as he spoke and stopped suddenly. Moved with sympathy, though her heart felt as though it had been pierced by a thousand needles, she lightly placed one hand on his knee.

"…and then Erik found you."

Her head shot up at this, taken off guard as he spoke once more, this time including her. He was looking down at her now, his eyes filling with tears while his trembling lips formed a smile. "…you have made Erik's life…so much more than he ever expected it to be. It was darkness…and now it is full of light, of…hope." He covered her hand with his own, pulling it to his lips and kissing each knuckle. "Oh, Angelique…"

Rising from her place, cautiously moved her hand to his face, lifting the mask off. Before he could protest, she bent down and pressed her lips to his cheek, letting them linger there for what he hoped would be forever. A strangled gasp was trapped within his throat as he felt her soft, full lips meet his yellow skin, his heart soaring within his breast. He believed he would died of bliss the moment she took her hand and placed it upon his other cheek, the feel of her hand imprinted upon his skin. All at once, he was alive and dead, his entire being consumed with want and need.

"An-gel-ique," he choked as she pulled away, his hands grabbing her skirt as he burried his face in her stomach, tears falling down his cheeks as he felt her hands on his back and head, soothingly stroking him.

"My poor, poor Erik," he heard her whisper, her hands light as a butterfly upon him.

They remained that way for minutes, the seamstress allowing the deformed man to weep onto her dress as she petted him affectionately. There could not have been a stranger sight, and yet, everything was as it should be.

At last, Erik pulled away from her, forcing himself to face her. "…Angelique-"

"You don't need to apologize for that, Erik," she told him with a loving smile. "You've been long overdue for a bit of sympathy and compassion." Gently setting his hair back in place, she said, "I'll clean up. Why don't you get some rest?"

"Erik barely rests, Angelique, you know that," he shook his head.

"You ought to. Sleep refreshes the soul," she encouraged him.

"I shall help you," he said, determined to assist her. "Then, perhaps, Erik shall try to rest."

Knowing it was useless to argue, she offered her hands and helped him up, taking the tea tray while he took the pastry. They worked silently as they rolled their sleeves and put the food away, washing the dishes and setting them back in their places. When at last they put the last item in place, they faced one another, awkward and silent. "…well…" he said, giving his collar a tug.  
"I'll see you in the morning, then?" she asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

He nodded. "_Oui…bonsoir_, my dear."

"_Bonsoir_, Erik," she smiled, squeezing his arm before walking past him, leaving him alone.

The stillness around him made Erik realize that what he had said was true…he felt alive when she was with him, and when she left, everything seemed to fall asleep. Reaching for his face, he realized that the mask still remained in the parlor. He shook his head, a wry smile coming to his lips. If only the Daroga knew – if only he could _see_! – what she did that made Erik so certain that she would never betray him. Walking back, he found the mask lying on the footstool upon which she had sat moments before. Taking it in his hands, he pressed it to his chest, still able to feel her lips and hand on his skin. "If that is what Heaven is like, then surely, I have died and she is my Angel," he murmured, bliss and calm washing over him. Heaving a sigh, he returned to his room, not in the lease bit exhausted or sleepy. He rarely slept, and after the events that had taken place that night, he was certain he would not sleep a wink.

Shutting the door to his room, he placed his mask upon the desk before removing his jacket and vest, his fingers reaching for the buttons on his shirt. _"She will be getting undressed now, before slipping into bed-"_ he thought when he stopped, an image flashing into his mind without warning.

_There Angelique was, standing by her bed, unbuttoning the back of her dress until it was loose, slipping her arms through the sleeves and peeling the front of her dress off of her chest, letting the fabric slide down her body until it pooled around her. Then as she stepped out, her pale, soft skin exposed, she would grab her nightgown, light and nearly transparent, and slip it over her head. She would tug her hair out and let it spill around her while the nightdress loosely clung to her body, the fabric just enough to cover her full breasts while she tugged the skirt around her exposed calves until the hem brushed her bare feet…_

"_Mon Dieu_," he gasped for breath, feeling the lower half of his body react to such a thought. Placing his hands on either side of his head, he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head viciously. "No…no! Erik cannot think of Angelique in such a manner! It is improper…and, and he wants Christine, after all-!"

"_Erik," he heard her whisper, her lips brushing against his ear. Her arms snaked around his chest until she had her hands over his heart, her body pressed against his back. He could feel everything about her, and his body – his soul – yearned for her to be closer still. He yanked her arms gently from him as he turned to face her, her hands instantly yanking his mask off so that her fingers could caress his cheeks. "Erik," she whispered yet again, throwing her arms around him and claiming his mouth with hers-_

"_Merde_!" he choked, grabbing onto the desk for support. Inhaling deeply, he pinched the bridge of his nose, his fighting to clear his mind while his nether regions continued to pester him. "No…no!" Sitting down at the organ, he breathed deeply, letting himself calm down. He'd never had such fantasies about any woman, not even Christine…It was wrong to think that way of Angelique, his dearest friend…

_Friend_.

She was his _friend_, wasn't she?

"…why does Erik yearn for more?"

**~OG~**

"I trust you can handle this simple task?"

There were three of them all together – a woman, a young lady, and a man, all gathered around the hearth of a wealthy home. The man didn't care for how the woman's beady, cold eyes stared at him, nor how the daughter lewdly batted her eyelids and purposely let her shawl slide off of her shoulder to expose her revealing nightdress. He didn't like the situation at all, but he needed the money – poor men like him had to grasp what they could before it got away.

"_Oui, Madame_," he nodded. "I'll find the girl, and your son."

"Then you shall be handsomely rewarded once you bring them back," she vowed, leaning back into her chair, her face shadowed by darkness. There was a wicked smile on her face when suddenly, she doubled over, her hand placed over her heart.

"Maman?!" the girl gasped, kneeling beside her. "Maman, is it-?"

"No," she coughed, gasping deeply. "I am…well. Very well." Taking a moment to regain her composure, feeling the pain in her chest subdue, she motioned with her hand at the man to leave, waiting until he had gone before gripping her daughter's hand. "I shan't let this kill me…not until I have Angelique, that little wench, in my possession once more!"


	15. Blood, Fire, Choices, Oh My!

**Chapter Fifteen - Blood, Fire, Choices, Oh My!**

Since the night of the Masque Ball, things became hectic in the opera as the managers tried to get _Faust_ set in motion once again. The week was filled with madness and all kinds of inconveniences for everyone within the _Palais Opera_, and no one truly got a good night's rest. The ballerinas received no quarter from their instructor, the stagehands and scene-shifters worked day and night to prepare the sets and practice for the show, and the managers received a constant bombardment of notes from the Phantom of the Opera.

Vicomte Raoul de Chagny and Christine Daae continued to see one another, playing their game of "betrothal" in bliss, meeting in darkened corners or the rooftop of the opera, sharing sweets and flowers and whispers. Philippe de Chagny frowned upon Raoul doing such things, but he was not at liberty to speak. He continued to visit La Sorelli, much to the dancer's delight, though his eyes always strayed towards the direction of Angelique Archambault's workroom.

Angelique, in the meantime, kept her eyes on her work…and the trapdoors that she became extremely familiar with that were tactfully placed all over the theater. She came down each night to Erik, sewing by the fire as he played the violin or piano, the two of them taking turns reading to one another, sharing supper and what happened to the both of them throughout the day. Christine came down every other night and stayed, making Angelique's stomach twist unpleasantly. While she cared for Christine and had no qualms with her, Erik continued to insist stubbornly that he had to make the singer love him. Christine, in the meantime, would visit Angelique and pour out her heart to her, sharing all her fears, concerns, and hopes.

"I do love Raoul, but it can never really happen," she sighed, shaking her head on night. "I'm supposed to see him tonight, on the rooftop by Apollo's Lyre…he wants to elope."

"How romantic," Angelique smiled, though the happiness didn't quite reach her eyes. "But you won't, will you?"

She shook her head, her golden hair swaying around her mournful face. "I'm so frightened of what Erik would do if he found out…and while I don't love him the way he wants me to, he is still my teacher, and I cannot bear it for him to be unhappy."

Angelique nodded, understanding all too well what she meant. "What time are you meeting?"

"Within the hour…wish me well?" she asked, embracing her friend. "You say a word of this to Erik, will you?"

Angelique shook her head, already knowing that one way or another, Erik would find out, with or without her help. "Be careful, Christine."

"I shall be," she promised, picking up her cloak and slipping out of Angelique's room.

Angelique remained there, looking down at the jacket she had nearly finished. It was Erik's design – the royal blue color dazzling and striking with the gold accents and glittering buttons, while red ribbons streamed off the shoulders. All that was left was to add the final buttons at the front and she would have all the costumes ready for the next day's big performance. Setting her work aside for the moment, she leaned back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling in her room. _"How it aches…I wish it would stop. I can't stop my feelings for Erik, but I can't impose them upon him…even if I did, he only wants Christine."_ Her eyes began to sting, her hand curling into a fist as she roughly used her knuckles to wipe away the tears that began to form. _"No…don't start. Don't cry over something you can't change…there's no point it."_

A knock at the door made her sit up, sniffling as she regained her composure. "Come in," she said, inhaling deeply as so to calm herself as she reached for the needle and jacket once more.

The door opened and Erik stepped into the room, raising an eyebrow at her. "What is the matter, Angelique?" he asked, noticing her eyes.

"I rubbed it too hard," she answered, glancing at him before getting back to her work. "By the by, I'm nearly finished and I'll probably be heading upstairs once I'm through."

"Very well," he nodded. "Erik shall be going out as well…" His mouth curled into a frown, meaning only one thing.

"This outing wouldn't happen to do with the de Chagny brothers, would it?" she asked accusingly as she sewed another button into place.

"Just one," Erik admitted. "He shall be meeting Christine at Apollo's Lyre tonight."

A wry smile came to her face as she shook her head. "There is nothing you can't find out, is there?" She felt sorry for Christine, but really, what could they have expected from the Opera Ghost?

"No, Erik supposes not," he chuckled, adjusting his fedora over his brow, his mask in place. "He shall return momentarily."

"Erik," Angelique pleaded futilely. "Won't you just let them-?"

"Christine _shall_ love Erik," he growled. "If she cannot, then who?" Turning on his heel, his cape swishing around him as he moved, he stalked out of the room, his footsteps fading as he moved farther and farther away, until at last the front door shut.

Her fingers curling around the lapels of the fine jacket, Angelique let her tears run free at last as she bowed her head in hopelessness. "…me."

**~OG~**

"Oh, Angelique, they're gorgeous!" Jammes sighed, admiring the outfits the seamstress had finished just in time for the event. "I can't wait to start the show with these new costumes!"

"It is very exciting," Meg beamed. "You'll be there to watch us, won't you?"

"I certainly would like to," Angelique nodded, smiling at the two girls. "Now you'd best be off, you'll need all the rest you can get for tomorrow's performance."

The giggling girls waved goodbye as they hurried off, completely unaware of the turmoil that their friend suffered all the while. Angelique watched them go, feeling an empty hollowness within her as she smoothed out a rich scarlet cape on one of the mannequins. She sighed as she arose from the floor, walking to her bunk and picking up her cloak. Tossing it over her shoulders, she decided that a quick walk about town ought to do her some good and clear her head. _"It would be a good opportunity to take a peep into the stores,"_ she thought, hoping it might distract her for a bit. So it was that she exited through the side door down the hall and stepped back onto the streets, memories replaying in her head of how she had come here, nearly a month ago, and had her life changed in seconds.

There were very few people out on the streets at this hour, most of the masses scurrying home for the night or wandering in and out of unsavory places. After her encounter with Maurice, Angelique kept a knife tucked into her sleeve or belt at all times, anxious of her surroundings. On this quiet snowy night, however, she was distracted and hurt, wondering what she was doing here at all. There were times she wanted to up and leave forever, perhaps even traveling out in search of her uncle, no matter what the costs…and yet, she knew it would break Erik's heart if she should vanish. She was also quite certain he would find a way to track her down and convince her to return…she was his friend, after all…

Stopping before a boutique window, she gazed at the display, tugging at her hair as she saw chocolates and sweets arranged in romantic formations and dainty trays. _"For The One Who Holds Your Heart"_ it declared, written in beautiful cursive.

"_But I do not hold his…not in that manner,"_ she shook her head, shivering as she fought not to cry.

It all happened very quickly.

There was the strange, imposing sense that someone was behind her during this vulnerable moment, and before she could reach for her arm, two burly arms constricted her, one pinning her arms to her waist, the other going for her face. Her mouth opened to scream but the stranger's large hand covered her mouth with a cloth, a sweet, dizzying smell overtaking her. She squirmed, holding her breath in hopes that she could fight it, but he remained steadfast, never letting go.

"_Make him think you're out!"_ she thought. _"Before it's too late!"_

She slowed her actions until she stopped, her lungs about to burst, her nose wrinkled as she fought to stay away. Sure enough, he loosened his hold on her, allowing her to snatch her weapon and stab it into his side. A roar of pain filled the air as the man gripped her shoulder. She jabbed him with her elbow, but the action made her head spin.

"_No!...No, I can't! I have to…get back…to the opera…Erik…"_

She had managed to make it across the street, tripping and stretching her arms blindly until at last she swooned and collapsed, her mind focused on one face before going black.

"_Erik…"_

**~OG~**

"I am frightened of him, Raoul…so, so frightened!" Christine wept, covering her face with her hands after telling her beloved everything that had happened since she came to the opera.

He wrapped his arms protectively around her, his brows set together sternly as he thought of the man who stole and frightened Christine. There was no doubt that he must be awful, but Christine, as terrified as she was of her teacher, certainly held a degree of awe and adoration for him – at least, for his talents. "But do you love _me_, Christine? Tell me, if Erik were good-looking, would you still love me?"

Her arms were flung around his neck at once as she trembled and said, "Oh Raoul, if I didn't love you, then I wouldn't give you lips! Take them, for it may be the last time."

Feverishly, he did as he was told, drinking in her sweet kiss, unaware of the pair of blazing eyes that glared down upon them from upon Apollo's bronze shoulder. They watched as Christine dragged Raoul away, leading him back into the opera to show him a way out to safety.

"_Ah, but he cannot be safe, not from the Opera Ghost, even if he leaves the theater,"_ Erik thought malevolently, slipping down skillfully before taking a separate route to catch them before they left. Sticking his hand into his pocket, he rubbed his thumb over the ring he had meant for Christine, his thoughts flickering back to a certain seamstress. _"Angelique…why were you upset when Erik left this evening?"_ he mused. _"Could she possibly crave Erik's presence with her always…? Oh yes, that must be it."_ He rolled his eyes, a grumble passing through his lips. _"Or perhaps she is utterly in love with Erik and hopes for him to return her affections – ah, yes, what a fool I am, indeed. So very obvious!"_ He continued mocking himself on his way to the foyer, certain that this would be their final destination. The more and more he teased himself, however, the appealing words started to prod at his brain and heart. _"No…it is not possible…is it?"_ he thought stopping at his hiding place and stroking his chin. _"…could it be-?"_

"Tomorrow, then?"

"Yes, tomorrow, Raoul! No matter what I say, we must leave together!"

Erik's head snapped over to the slit behind the curtain, his blood boiling at the news.

"I love you," she whispered, kissing him once more before running away.

Raoul shook his head, frowning as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Humbug," he muttered. "I have to save Christine from that humbug before it's too late!"

"Humbug, you say?" Erik hissed, watching him leave. "I shall show you a humbug, _monsieur_."

Waiting until the cost was clear, he took another passage until he exited the opera, stalking after the muttering Vicomte as he strolled home. They did not have fair to walk, as the opera was a mere few blocks away from the de Chagny estate, causing Erik to smirk. Waiting until the young man entered the house, he slunk through the darkness and climbed up the gutter-spout until he arrived at a balcony on the second floor. There, he tugged his cloak closer to his body and waited.

It did not take more than fifteen minutes before the young man entered his room, ready to sleep. "Good, then it is the right room," he chuckled quietly, waiting until the Vicomte had turned out the lights and began to situate himself. Approaching the window, he leaned his face forward, knowing that the only thing visible to Raoul at this hour of night would be his cat-like eyes, glowing like burning coals in the night.

From within the confines of his room, Raoul shouted, "Humbug, humbug, humb-!" His insults stopped the moment he turned his head towards the French doors, seeing the eyes in the dark staring at him. He trembled, groping the nightstand and lighting a match. Quickly, Erik closed his eyes and stepped away from the window, biting back a cruel laugh as Raoul lit a candle and gaped at the now empty window. He covered his mouth, wanting to burst out when he saw Raoul approach the window and then check under the bed like a frightened child. The young man looked baffled and insulted as he blew out the candle and got back into bed. The moment he pulled the covers up, Erik stood before the window and stared once more, enjoying their little game.

Raoul sat up, staring back in awe and fright. "Erik, is that you?" he called out from the bed. "Man, genius, or ghost, is it you?!"

Erik allowed himself to chuckle once more, letting his eerie voice seep through the glass and drift chillingly around Raoul, watching him shudder. As the boy clumsily reached over and turned his face away for the briefest moment, Erik unlatched the window and silently snuck in, crouching at the foot of the bed. When Raoul looked back, he gasped in fear, still only able to see Erik's eyes. However, this time, Erik caught a glint of something in Raoul's hand…a revolver.

Raoul took aim as Erik fell back, the shot echoing in the room, the bullet flying through the window as Erik winced, feeling a sharp pain pass his arm. While Raoul gasped in shock, looking down at his own shaking hands, Erik exited the room and sat on the balcony's rail, gripping his bleeding arm. "Blast!" he hissed.

"Sir?! Sir, was that you?!"

"Are you all right?"

"Raoul! _Mon Dieu_, brother, what is it? What happened?"

Thinking fast, Erik forced himself to climb, using the gutter-spout once more until he arrived at the roof, hiding behind the peak as he waited for them to check the balcony.

"It was Erik, I _know_ it was!" Raoul insisted.

"The blood is here," a servant agreed. "But it's gone up the gutter-spout."

"You've shot a cat," Philippe stated flatly, clearly unimpressed.

"No, Philippe, it _was_ the Opera Ghost, I know it," Raoul snapped. "Just you wait – I'll prove it to you."

"Oh, Erik has no doubt of it," Erik rolled his eyes, wincing once more as he slid down the roof and found another gutter spout to use. Climbing down, he cradled his arm as he moved silently through the streets, making his way towards the stables of the opera. "Angelique will not be pleased," he shook his head, a "tsk" slipping out of his mouth.

"Angelique is not here."

Erik spun around to confront the voice, reaching for his lasso, when he saw a familiar astrakhan cap upon the hidden figure. "Daroga!" he spat, wincing as his arm ached. "How dare you-!"

"I see you have been occupied with the Vicomte," the Persian smirked, pulling out a piece of cloth. "Allow me-"

"Erik does not need your assistance," he scoffed.

"You shall if you wish to save Angelique," the man informed him.

Erik gave him an incredulous look, ready to snap a dirty response back when he saw how stern the Persian's face was. Fear and worry bubbled within him, his eyes widening as he thought of his darling girl in peril. "Where is she?!"

"Come, I have a cab waiting at the front of the opera," the Persian said, guiding him away. "I shall tell you all I can, but only if you let me fix your arm."

"Damn my arm!" Erik cursed as he followed the man, his sense of referring to himself in third person having flown out the window. "Just tell me!"

"She was kidnapped and taken away, but the man was unfamiliar," the Persian shook his head. "I can't imagine who would want to-"

"I can," Erik said, his fiery eyes narrowing. "Quickly, get to the carriage, there's not a moment to waste!"

**~OG~**

She was fighting against the black void that she was trapped in, swimming against the ominous current, her throat dry as she futilely called out for the one person she desperately hoped to see._"Erik! Erik!"_

A low, sinister chuckle filled her ears, causing her to shiver, as she felt herself slowly returning to the world of the living. She forced her eyelids open little by little, her blurry vision lazily clearing…

"_Oh, no!"_ Angelique felt her stomach churn at the sight of two shadows standing by the fire. The parlor was all too familiar – the green walls, the pristine white fireplace and mantle, the flowery patterns on the lavish rugs…

"Welcome home, Angelique," spoke the woman stepping towards her as she sneered contemptuously.

"Capucine," breathed Angelique, the blood draining from her face.

"You didn't think we had forgotten about you, did you, Angie?" smirked the second figure, joining her mother's side.

"Helen," Angelique whispered, her throat closing as she uttered the name.

"You've been a terrible girl, Angelique," Lady Archambault-Lenoir hissed. "You've caused quite a hassle – I never thought you'd actually make it this far on your own and for so long. But we've found you now." That wickedly sweet smile stretched over her face as her eyes seemed to shine demonically at her in the fire and lamplight. "Now be a dear and tell us where Maurice is. I sent him looking for you nearly two weeks ago. Surely, you've seen him."

The vision of Erik coming to her rescue flashed in her eyes, Maurice crippling under Erik's hold. _"I shall always come for you,"_ his velvety voice said soothingly in her mind, a sudden rush of courage surging through her. Her jaw set firm, she whipped her head towards her stepfamily, her eyes narrowed as her brows furrowed, startling the two women. "He's dead," she stated coldly, slipping off of the lounge and planting her feet firmly on the floor.

The two of them gawked at her, stunned. "Y-You're lying!" Helen stammered, pointing accusingly at her.

"He's _dead_, Helen," Angelique repeated, her head held high, her tone even and icy. "He tried to rape me, tried to hurt me and then take me away…and do you know what happened? My guardian angel rescued me." A delighted smile came to her face as she imagined Erik standing close by, offering his hand to her. "My angel came and protected me, and he'll do it again!"

"She's absolutely _mad_, Maman!" Helen whispered.

"Angelique, I've had enough of this-!" Capucine said, raising her hand to strike. Bring her arm down, she gasped as Angelique grabbed it with both hands and tossed her aside. The elder toppled onto the floor and nearly crashed into a chair, the sharp pain starting again in her breast. "You-!"

"No, Capucine, _I_ have had enough of this," Angelique informed her. "I won't let you hurt me any more. I rule my life, you do not. I am not afraid of you."

"How dare you-!" started Helen.

"No," Angelique said, turning around and glaring at her step-sister. "How dare _you_, Helen? Your family has made my life a living nightmare since our parents wed. You all hid your true selves fairly well, but it wasn't until Papa died that you all came out and showed your true colors! You destroyed me – you stripped me of my confidence, my happiness, my life! Well, I am no longer your_Cendrillon_," she declared, her hands placed defiantly on her hips. "I have a new life, and I will _not_ let you destroy it as you have ruined my past."

"You wicked wench!" Helen howled, running and tackling the girl onto the floor. "I'll show you!"

"Get off of me!" Angelique demanded, wrestling with the manic girl on the carpets. The two of them rolled and kicked, scratching at each other in an attempt to overpower the other.

"H-Hel…len-!" Capucine gasped, her fingers curling at the frills over her chest. Her heart was pounding much too quickly, her mind spinning as she forced herself onto her feet. Tripping over her own steps, she felt that she could not breathe, her insides feeling about ready to burst. With a final strangled gasp, she reached the mantle for support, knocking the clock, figurines, and gas lamp down as she grasped frantically to hold on before falling onto her back, her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

At the sound of the crash, Helen looked up, allowing Angelique to punch her face. Stunning the girl, she shoved the other off before scrambling away to the other side of the room, the smell of gas and burnt rugs and wood filling her nose. Her eyes widened in shock at the sight of her stepmother lying on the ground, unmoving, while the gas lamp had been shattered on the floor, a fire spreading and consuming the furniture within seconds.

"Maman!" Helen screeched, running through the fire to grab her mother, shaking her violently. "Maman?! Get up! Get up, you old cow!" she demanded, hysterical tears sliding down her face.

Angelique covered her mouth as he jaw dropped, fear and disbelief gripping her. The distinct crackle of the fire eating away at the wood found throughout the room snapped her back to her senses, panic filling her mind. "Helen!" she shouted, calling to her stepsister. "Helen, get out of there! Listen to me-!"

The fire, having spread vertically across the room now, made contact with the fireplace, a loud hiss followed by a roar filling the room as it began to spread even more so over the walls. Touching the paintings placed nearby, the fire licked the materials, greedily fed by the ingredients with which the canvas and paint were made, allowing it to travel faster and further. The fire upon the coffee table consumed the next gas lamp, and just as Angelique had shouted her warning, the glass shattered and the fire bloomed, its heat reaching the ceiling and nearby seats, surrounding Angelique in flames. Fighting back a scream as the glass and flames flew near her, she held up her arm in defense, when the small chandelier dangling from above was loosened from its hold as the fire raged on.

Angelique could see it fall, a distant memory of a much larger one in the _Palais Garnier_ falling and killing a man filling her mind. She felt that she was moving much too slowly and everything around her was much too fast. Coughing and crying, she took a step back, tripping over her own skirts as the chandelier crashed onto the floor, several of the little gems flying, one of them smacking Angelique on the forehead. Stunned by the pain and smoke, suffocating from the heat, she felt herself collapse onto the ground, a horrifying scream filling the air.

Perhaps it was the heat, or perhaps her spirit was being lifted up, but she felt at peace when a set of strong, thing arms curled around her and picked her up, crushing her face into a man's chest as she felt herself flying through the air without really moving. There was a familiar scent to this figure that carried her off, the smell of home…

"Driver, go! _Now_!"

The whiny of horses pierced the air as the coolness of night wafted around her, a comfortable darkness closing in on her. She coughed and gasped for breath, moaning as she curled closer against the figure that held her.

"Angelique…? Angelique, please, say something," the beautiful voice pleaded.

Her eyelids fluttered open, two faces coming into view once again…this time, however, they were welcomed with a weak smile. "Daroga," she murmured, seeing him offer a small smile.

"We are very glad you're well, Miss Archambault," the Persian said, his eyes moving to someone else.

Tilting her head, her heart fluttered at the sight of a masked face. "E-Erik…" She felt her tears, hot and large, burst free from their prisons and trickle down her face. "Erik…you came for me."

"Erik promised he would, did he not?" he whispered, a shaky smile on his lips. "He was so worried for you, Angelique…Erik thought he lost y-" He gasped as she lifted her head, pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth before slumping against him once more, murmuring, "My guardian angel…" Within moments, she was unconscious once more, her forehead resting against his neck, the feel of her lips tingling on his face. A spark had shot through him as she had graced him with her kiss, a strangled gasp caught in his throat. He curled his arms around her, even though it hurt, and gently crushed her in a tight embrace, pressing his own lips to her forehead. "My Angelique…" he whispered, cradling her softly.

The Persian watched them, one eyebrow cocked in curiosity and amazement. Glancing out the window, he saw the flames overtaking the house, realizing that Angelique's past truly was dead now, forever behind her. Seeing how she and Erik acted around one another, he felt a flicker of hope grow within him. _"Perhaps there is hope for Erik after all…"_

**~OG~**

Angelique curled comfortably under the covers, content in the soft, warm cocoon which she was wrapped in. Her eyelids slowly opened, her vision clearing to show her room in Erik's house. She smiled, a relieved sigh escaping her. "I'm home," she breathed, sitting up and stretching. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she ran her fingers through her hair. "How long have I been asleep?" she mumbled, slipping out of bed. Shrugging, she left for the washroom. "I'll check the clock in the Louis-Philippe room later…"

She started a hot bath and slipped into the tub, soaking up the delicious warmth of the water. A shiver passed through her spine as she remembered how she came to be in her old home, her stepfamily tainting it with haunted, scarred memories. She shook her head, struggling to clear her mind when she remembered that after she was knocked down, she had awakened in Erik's arms. She drew her fingers over the water's surface, blushing as she recalled how she thanked him. "I might have been too forward with that one," she whispered, wondering how he reacted. She only remembered stretching up to kiss him and then fading out once more. Staring at her reflection in the water, she sighed, getting up and grabbing a towel. "It still doesn't change anything."

Angelique took her time brushing her hair and selecting a gown, though her stomach grumbled in protest. "I feel like I slept a whole day away," she mused, leaving her room and entering the hall, her brows furrowing as she heard Erik's voice, persistent and demanding.

"You must make your choice, Christine, or they _shall_ perish!"

Fear gripped her heart once more as Angelique forced herself to run faster, a cry of despair breaking free from her as she saw Erik standing over Christine and pointing at a small slot in the wall that had been hidden before behind a curtain. The poor girl was tied to a chair, weeping on and on, lifting her head as she heard the cry. "Angelique! Oh, Angelique, please help us!"

Hearing her cry, Erik raised his eyes, his look changing from one of frustration to worry and shame. "Angelique-"

"What have you done, Erik?!" she demanded, her hands curling into fists. Seeing the slot, she ran to it, using the footstool to reach it.

"No, Angelique-!" Erik warned her.

She peeked, gasping as she saw an iron tree at the center of a room of mirrors, a hanging noose dangling from one of the branches. Trapped within the confines of this torture chamber were the Persian and the Vicomte de Chagny. "Monsieurs!"

"Mademoiselle Archambault?!" Raoul asked, all the while running around the room, struggling to find an escape. "Please, help us!"

"Erik has kidnapped Miss Daae," the Daroga choked, the heat slowly getting to him. "We tried to save her…"

"Save her?!" Angelique asked, feeling Erik tug her off of the stool. "What-?"

"He took me during the performance," she wept. "If I don't marry Erik, he'll…he'll kill Raoul and the Persian!"

"Enough!" Erik bellowed, frightening Christine once more.

"You…you wouldn't!" Angelique stammered, her heart aching once more. "Erik, I thought that you-"

"Christine knows too much of Erik, and she is his!" he insisted, shaking her in desperation. "You must understand, Angelique, please! There is no one else-!"

"Stop it! _Stop_!" she cried, breaking free of his hold and bolting from the room. She ran out of the house and fell to her knees, covering her face and crying as she felt her heart break into pieces. After everything they went through…he still insisted on having Christine, he still believed that Christine would be the one for him… "You should have let me die," she murmured. What was she supposed to do now?

"Angelique?!"

Her head snapped up, her eyes widening in terror as she saw a familiar figure rowing through the lake towards the house. "Philippe?!"


	16. The Kiss of Life

**Chapter Sixteen - The Kiss of Life**

"Philippe!" Angelique shouted. "Get out of here, now!"

He was closer than she had expected for him to be, and this frightened her. Erik would not be pleased, and at such a crucial moment, he would be willing to murder the next idiot who came his way.

"Are you hurt?!" the Comte called to her, getting closer, and closer still.

"I'm fine, but you need to-!"

"Where's my brother?" he demanded to know.

Checking over her shoulder, she bit her lip anxiously. Erik had not emerged, at least not to her knowledge, so she would have to work fast. "He's in trouble – they, no, _we_ are all in trouble here!"

The boat was not even a foot within reach when he lunged out, tumbling onto the pavement. Angelique knelt down beside him and helped him up, letting him grasp her shoulders for support. "Listen to me, Philippe, you need to get back on that boat and get out," she insisted, her voice low and firm. "If he finds you here-"  
"Ah, so Angelique is entertaining a guest for Erik, is she?!"

Erik's arm magically appeared, striking out and separating the two before his magical lasso slipped over the Comte's neck. "What a pity the Siren could not greet you, _monsieur_, but then, she was occupied," he chuckled grotesquely.

Angelique shuddered, remembering how he had told her once about his "siren" that plagued the lake. "Erik, please! Let him go!" she demanded, latching onto his arm.

"Erik cannot, for the good Comte de Changy has trespassed," he snarled, tightening his hold while Philippe gasped and twisted his body in vain.

"Erik, I beg of you, if you think even the slightest bit of me, don't kill him!" she pleaded, her eyes burning as she spoke fiercely.

These words struck his mind, making his hold on the man slacken just a bit. He glanced at her, taking in her countenance. His jaw stiffened as he slipped the noose off and let the man fall to his knees, choking for air. "…go into the house," he ordered her quietly, the sternness in his voice making her shiver. "Release Christine and keep her company, won't you?" Kneeling down, he grabbed the weakened Comte and began to lead him away.

"Erik-!" she called out, fear filling her chest.

"_Go_!" he demanded, both he and his prisoner vanishing into the shadows and mist.

She stood there, forlorn and hurting, her eyes searching the darkness. Admitting defeat, she bowed her head and walked back inside, moving slowly until she was in the Louis-Philippe room once more.

"Angelique!" Christine gasped, looking over her shoulder as she watched her enter. "Heavens, what happened?! What did he do-?!"

"He's got Philippe," she stated flatly, grabbing a letter opener from a little desk that had always been locked and was now opened to reveal a set of shining knobs in the shapes of insects – the left being a scorpion, the right being a grasshopper.

"Philippe? _The Comte de Chagny_?!" she gasped, waiting until Angelique had cut her bonds before leaping to her feet. "This is madness – utter _madness_!" she wept. "What are we to do?!...wait, Angelique!" She grabbed her arm, falling to her knees, startling the seamstress. "Angelique, I beg of you, do something! He listens to you-!"

"Ha!" Angelique spat, her eyes stinging with fresh tears. "He never listens." _"Not when it has to do with my heart."_

"But he does! He listens to you more than he does to me!" she insisted. "Please, Angelique, talk some sense into him! I can't marry him, I don't love him, not that way!"

"I've been trying to show that stubborn man that I love him since we met, but he only wants you, Christine, and I'm _not_ you!" Angelique cried, covering her face as she pulled away.

Christine gawked at her, stunned by the news. "…you…truly do-?"

"Truly do what?" Erik's voice asked smoothly, entering through his room.

The two girls yelped in surprise, shocked by his entrance. "E-Erik? But, but you had gone-" Christine stammered, pointing towards the front door.

"Erik had to drop the Comte off to see his brother," he smirked, his eyes wandering towards the slot that showed the torture chamber.

Both Christine and Angelique stared in horror as they realized what he had done. Rising to her feet, Christine ran to the wall, gasping as her fingers touched it. It was extremely warm, causing her stomach to twist uncomfortably within her. Peeping through the hole, she cried in terror as she saw the Persian, Raoul, and now Philippe, all delirious from the heat. "Erik," she choked, hopping off of the stool and extending her arms to him. "Please, let them go-!"

"You have a choice, Christine," Erik snarled. "Choose the Scorpion – you marry me and save the gentlemen within. Choose the Grasshopper and the opera house goes in flames. There is enough gunpowder to take out a quarter of Paris, all beneath our feet!"

"He's insane!" they heard Raoul shout out. "Don't touch them, Christine!"

"Silence, boy!" he shouted at the wall. "If you do not choose in two minutes, Christine, I shall turn the Grasshopper!"

"Erik, don't do this!" Angelique shouted, running over to them. Gripping his arm, to which he hissed in pain, she pleaded, "Don't make her choose, Erik – she doesn't love you!"

"She must!" he cried, yanking his arm free from her hold. He moaned wearily, touching his masked face. "If she cannot love Erik, then who-?"

"_I_ love you, Erik!" Angelique blurted, the tears never stopping as she confessed. "I'll stay with you always, I swear it, just let them go!"

He laughed cruelly, pain shooting through her heart. "Of course, you say anything to appease, Erik…Angelique?" Panic consumed him as she fell to her knees, her face contorted in agony as she wept silently, her head bowed once more in defeat. "A-Angelique…?" That was when it hit him – she had said "I love you", she swore she would stay with him. He had rejected her and now she was brokenhearted at his feet. Trembling, he knelt down before her. "D-Did…Do you truly mean that, Angelique?" he asked, his shaking hand reaching for her.

"Erik, I choose the Scorpion!" Christine cried, giving the knob a violent turn.

Both Angelique and Erik's heads jerked upon hearing the news when another sound from within the torture chamber erupted. Something was gushing inside, the three men shouting out for help. Confused, Christine checked the slot in the wall, a horrified gasp escaping her. "Oh, no! Erik, make it stop! Please!"

"What happened?" Angelique asked, wiping her face as she heard the roaring sound of water.

"They're drowning! _Mon Dieu_, I've set off some trap mechanism!" Christine screeched, falling to her knees in utter despair.  
Rising to his feet, Erik calmly walked to the desk and switched the knob back to its original position, smoothing his hair back in place. "If you wanted to turn it off, Christine, all you had to do was twist it back."

She gaped at him, unable to believe what he was saying. He was eerily cool and collected, as if he had straightened a painting upon the wall. He motioned for them to follow him, guiding them into his room. Christine winced as she entered, uncomfortable in this dank, death-like setting. Angelique pressed on, her face flushing as she realized she had probably made a huge mistake in telling him about her feelings. As she opened her mouth to speak, he jaw dropped as Erik revealed yet another hidden door in his room, leading to a stairwell that arose before them. Taking the lead, he guided them in the darkness until they arrived at a slab, another door before them. Reaching for it, he tugged the handle on the right until it slid open, the branches of the iron gibbet coming into view.

"The torture chamber," Angelique whispered, causing Christine to push past her to peek down.

"Raoul!" she cried, cupping her hand over her mouth as she sobbed.

The three men were soaked and unconscious, lying on the floor of the mirrored room.

"Erik…?" Angelique started.

"They are alive," he answered quietly, pulling his Punjab lasso from his belt and looping it over a hook that was placed above their heads. Using the rope, he swung himself down and grabbed the first man closest to him – Raoul de Chagny. Slipping the young man's torso through the widened loop, he tugged the rope until the limp man's body arrived at the doorway.

"Christine, help me," Angelique ordered, receiving immediate compliance from the frantic singer. She grasped his clothes and tugged him into the entrance as Angelique released him of the noose and sent it back down to Erik. The process was repeated for the two other gentlemen, with the exception that Christine remained by Raoul's side, fussing over him and mumbling her concerns for the unconscious wretch. At last, once the Persian had been pulled up, Erik used his lasso to climb back up, reaching for the edge when another hand grabbed his. His eyes soon met with Angelique's, filled with longing and despair, as she tugged him back into the passage. They stood before one another, silent, unable to speak, until Angelique turned away and walked towards Christine, instructing her to pick Raoul up by the legs while she slipped her arms under his and held him hp by the chest. "Let's get them into the drawing room," she suggested.

**~OG~**

It was several hours later when they all finally awoke, all three men stunned at the sight of being in a rather pleasant room with two ladies and a masked man caring for them.

"Chr-Chris-tine?" Raoul moaned, accepting her embrace though he gawked uncertainly at Erik's form.

"Oh, Raoul! Thank Heaven you're all right!" she sighed, kissing his brow.

"_Mon Dieu_…Erik?" the Daroga blinked, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What happened?"

"Angelique?" Philippe asked the moment his eyes opened. "Angelique! Thank God you're not hurt-!"

"I'm fine, but you're-" she started, freezing as she felt him wrap his arms around her.

Erik watched them all, silent and pensive, waiting until they felt the weight of his gaze upon them. With all sets of five eyes on him, he spoke at last. "Erik…apologizes…for the trouble you have all endured…" He swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he began to say the next part of his message. "…you are all free to leave."

No one moved. Not an eyelid blinked at his news, all of them utterly stunned by his words. "…Erik-?" Christine spoke up.

"Christine," he cut her off, pulling the gold ring from his pocket and walking to her. "Erik had hoped that you would wear this if…if you chose to be his…but he sees now that you would truly be unhappy with him. It was never meant to be." He offered her the ring in his palm nevertheless, his eyes full of calm and apology. "But he still hopes you will take this and think of him kindly every so often…"

"Oh Erik," she whispered, tears in her eyes as she took the ring from him. "Do you mean-?!"

"Go, marry your _Vicomte_," he urged her with a small smile. "Be happy." He stood perfectly still as she embraced him, kissing his masked face. He shivered, though it was not the same pleasant sensation he felt when Angelique had done so. Pulling away from her, he swept his gaze to the three men and Angelique, his tone firm and mournful. "Go, all of you. Leave this place and never return. Tell no one."

The group glanced at one another, uncertain what to think. Slowly, the men got to their feet, a little unstable as they began to walk. Philippe moved first, placing his hand upon Angelique's shoulder when, suddenly, she slipped away and moved in the opposite direction.

"Angelique?" Philippe asked, watching her in confusion as she picked up an abandoned teacup upon the mantle. "Angelique, what in Heaven's name are you doing?"

"Tidying the place, obviously," she answered with a shrug. "It's what I always do at home, Philippe. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, I've been asleep for nearly a whole day – I have quite a bit of work ahead of me."

"She's gone mad," Raoul whispered, earning a frown from Christine.

"You're not coming?" the Persian asked, a smile twitching onto his lips as he glanced over at Erik.

"No, I'm not going anywhere, thank you," she answered politely.

"W-Why?"

All heads turned to Erik, bent forward towards Angelique in disbelief as he clutched his hand over his heart, his eyes large and filled with tears, his lips parted and trembling as he waited for an answer. "Angelique…why-?"

"I thought I told you, Erik," she said softly, blush appearing on her cheeks as she repeated her words. "I love you…I fell in love with you when you apologized to me after the first day we met…I never want to leave you, or your home. There's nowhere for me to go, no one to turn to, and it would break my heart to leave."

"Y-Your uncle," Erik stammered, taking a step towards her, testing her further. "The Comte de Changy-!"

"You must be the most stubborn man I know, Erik," she shook her head. "I mean what I say. I love _you_, Erik. I just…" Her voice quivered, failing for a moment before returning, weak and broken. "…I just never thought you would love me back…because you want Chris-"

"Prove it!" Erik demanded, lunging forward so viciously that it startled everyone. His hands grabbed her shoulders firmly as he begged, "Prove that it's true! Since we met, I've fought so hard, trying to decide what these feelings were, what Christine was to me, what you were…I started to care more about wanting you than her, but I thought that Christine would complete me, and…and then you came and-" His eyes widened in horror as she snatched the mask from his face, everyone gaping at his hideousness, when she leaned forth and did the unspeakable.

She kissed him…

Spark shot through him as he felt her lips press against his, soft and eager, salty from her tears. Shock and delight danced in harmony through his veins while her hands went to his head, running her fingers through his hair, her body pressed to his. He was shaking, so badly that he grabbed onto her tightly, afraid that he would topple over, in essence creating a more intimate kiss. His eyes closed as tears began to flow, her heart beating rapidly against his own. He caressed her cheeks and hair, touching her the whole time, as if to make sure that this was not a dream and he would not be awakening any time soon. Regrettably, she pulled her head away from his, leaving his speechless.

"I love you, Erik," she murmured, pressing her forehead to his.

A sob escaped him as he felt his knees go weak, wrapping his arms around her once more. "…I love you, Angelique," he confessed in a whisper, his heart bursting with joy. He shook his head, remembering all the times he had fought her, abandoned her, all in pursuit of his pupil. "Oh, Angelique, forgive me!" he begged, falling to his knees and hiding his face in her skirts. "Forgive me – Erik is not worthy or your love!"

"Erik," she breathed, lowering herself so that they were eye to eye. Tucking her hand under his chin, she gently forced him to look up at her, a teary smile on her face. "You know I cannot stay mad at you."

A weak smile grew on his lips as he heard these words, embracing her once more, shivering in delight at the feel of her cheek pressed to his neck. They remained that way for moments until he forced himself to pull away, grabbing his mask and placing it over his face before turning to the bewildered group, helping Angelique up to her feet.

"An-…Angelique," Philippe started, shocked that he had seen such a thing. "…you're absolutely serious about…this?"

"Yes, Philippe," she nodded, taking Erik's hand in hers. "I love him, and I'm not leaving. I _can't_ and _won't_ leave Erik…not now, and not ever." The Opera Ghost took her hand up to his lips and pressed a fervent kiss to it, enjoying the blush that formed on her cheeks.

The Comte nodded, his eyes cast downward in defeat. "…very well. As you wish…Miss Archambault." Bowing to them, he exited the room, never once looking back.

"Goodbye Erik, Angelique," Christine whispered, her eyes glistening with bittersweet tears of happiness. "I wish you both well."

"As we do to you," Erik answered, nodding at the Vicomte, who returned the gesture though he was quite perplexed.

The Persian waited until the couple had followed in Philippe's steps before walking towards them, one eyebrow raised in amusement. "…so, it is absolutely true. You're in love with the Ghost?"

"He's not a ghost, he's a man," she smirked, linking her arm with Erik's. "A flawed man, but a good one…the man I love." Erik squeezed her hand at this, the two of them sharing a shy smile.

The Daroga chuckled, shaking his head. "…what a change you've undergone, Erik…truly, the beauty has tamed the beast."

"Bah," Erik scoffed, trying to frown though the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a grin.

"You shall not be rid of _me_ so easily, you realize," the Persian stated. "I shall return to see if you are both still alive and behaving in a few days time."

"Of course," Erik rolled his eyes. "Now get out of Erik's home before he changes his mind and brings out the lasso once more."

Casting a wink at Angelique, the man bowed to them, adjusted his cap, and walked away, shutting the door after him. The two waited, listening to the silence as they faced one another once more, weariness and excitement intermingled in their blood as they gazed into each other's eyes.

"…shall I make us some tea?" she offered at last, earning a chuckle out of him.

"Erik would like that very much, _mon cher_," he answered, loving the way she shivered and blushed as he spoke those words. "It has been a most interesting evening, to say the least…shall Erik play his violin?"

"Yes, please," she nodded, leaning her head against his shoulder as they walked towards the kitchen. "Something from your _'Don Juan'_ if possible."

"As you wish, Angelique," he whispered, daring to press his lips to her head. "As you wish…"


	17. A New Addition

**Chapter Seventeen - A New Addition**

"Angelique?"

"Yes, Erik?"

The clock chimed nine o'clock in the morning, the two of them enjoying a late, simple breakfast in the Louis-Philippe room, Erik sitting in his chair while she sat comfortably at his feet. She was spreading jam on her toast when he suddenly spoke, having been silent for most of the morning. She tilted her head back to look at him, raising the bread to her mouth. He sat still as a statue, his cup of tea untouched as he rested his chin upon his interlaced fingers.

"What is it?" she asked, seeing how contemplative he was. Something was bothering him, and it made her stomach churn with worry.

"…Erik has something important he wishes to ask, but is…well, nervous," he admitted, still not looking at her. "Actually, he has _two_ things he needs to know of you."

"Very well," she answered, setting her breakfast down and giving him her full attention, waiting for him to speak. It was irritating and fascinating, watching him do nothing but stare at the fire, mulling something of great importance in his mind.

Erik inhaled deeply, holding his breath before sighing and placing his hands on his knees. "…Erik apologizes for the wait, dearest, but he has never had to do anything like this before."

Her face and neck flushed at once upon hearing him call her "dearest", her voice choppy as she let her hair fall over her red face. "Oh, ah, it's…it's all right. Just fine…"

He didn't seem to notice her reaction to the tiny pet name he had given her, his long fingers rhythmically tapping against his knee. "…Angelique," he said at last, his tone regal and stern all at once, startling her. "Erik knows full well that he is not what a young woman expects to find in her life and claim to be in love with, however, Erik is quite greedy, and seeing how you have clearly stated you wish to be with him always and have proven so since you first met him, Erik would…" He faltered, licking his dry lips as he took another breath and looked down, his brows furrowing suddenly. "No."

"No?" she repeated, utterly lost now.

"No, this will not do," he mumbled, getting up from his chair and offering his hand to her. "Please, Angelique, sit in the chair."

"Uh…very well," she consented, albeit confused and worried by his behavior. Sitting in his seat, she watched as he kneeled before her and took her right hand in both of his. "Erik? Is something wrong?"

"Yes – you are in love with _le Fantome de l'Opera_," he stated sarcastically, chuckling for a moment before becoming very serious once more. His hands gripped onto hers a bit more tightly as he took another breath and said, "Angelique Archambault…would you allow me the honor to…to court you?"

She stared at him, the thought of laughing popping into her head. Why was he making such a big fuss over a question, when she remembered that this was Erik – a deformed man who had not known compassion, sympathy, or tenderness, much less love in his sad, lonely, and even violent life. A beautiful, tender smile grew upon her lips as she felt she continued to blush at Erik's delivery – he was, as always, ever the gentleman. "Erik…the honor would be mine. I should love to have you court me."

His eyes glimmered, a delighted smile growing as he gave a breath of relief, his shoulders dropping after having been set and straight from nerves. "Ah…good. Thank you…" He hesitated once more, looking away and clenching his hand anxiously.

"What's wrong?" she asked, touching his shoulder.

Facing her once more, he stood up and bit his lip. She followed in suit, standing beside him, waiting. "…Angelique…you kissed Erik yesterday."

"So I did," she nodded, shyly tucking her hair behind her ear as she remembered how she had tackled him before she claimed his lips.

"Well…now it is Erik who wishes…who wishes to kiss you," he said shyly, flexing his fingers nervously.

"Kiss me?" she repeated, dazed.

"On the lips," he added, daring to look her in the eye.

She couldn't help but smile at how he reminded her of a little schoolboy, sweet and innocent-like. "Of course you can, Erik. You don't have to ask me for anything when it comes to that."

"Erik will ask, nevertheless," he informed her, earning a giggle from her. He took a step towards her, seeing how she remained perfectly still, waiting for him to make his move. He was in charge now, and he would be the one to guide her, though he knew very little about any form of contact, much less kissing. His hands moved slowly towards her, placing them lightly on her cheeks, his thumbs caressing her skin. He savored the feel of her – warm, soft, yielding under his touch. He leaned forth, watching as she closed her eyes, his heart fluttering within his chest when he remembered the mask. Erik paused, clearing this throat in uncertainty to earn her attention. "Ah…the mask," he stammered, touching it with one hand. "May I…that is-"

"You don't need that mask when you're with me, Erik," she whispered, helping him peel it off before it dropped to the floor, temporarily forgotten. "Kiss me?"

His eyes stung as he smiled, watching her tilt her head just so, her eyes shutting once more in anticipation. Cupping one hand at the base of her neck and slinking the other around her waist, he closed the gap between them and pressed his lips to hers, a moan of bliss caught in his throat. He felt her hands on his shoulders, holding onto him as though her life depended on it as they shared their sweet kiss. He pulled back a moment, taking a breath and looking into her dazed eyes before kissing her once more, deepening the kiss this time, hungry and greedy. She let him hold her close, goosebumps rising over her skin as he pressed butterfly kisses down her jaw before returning to her mouth once more.

After what felt years – glorious "years" of passion and tenderness – he pulled away from her, both of them breathless as they gazed into each others' eyes, both of them blushing.

"Angelique," he murmured, brushing her hair away from her eyes. "…I love you."

"And I love you, Erik," she whispered, embracing him tightly before resting her cheek upon his shoulder, her being floating on happiness. Things would be all right now…

**~OG~**

"Angelique!" the ballet girls squealed when they saw her entering her workroom. They all flocked around her, giggling and whispering. "Oh, Angelique! You'll never believe what happened!" little Jammes said, glancing over her shoulder.

"Where were you, anyway?" Josephine asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"I was taking care of family matters," she lied, shuddering at the thought of her stepfamily, who according to the Persian and Erik, had died in the fire of her old home. "But I heard that things were rather dramatic since we last spoke."

"That's a nice way of putting it," Meg mumbled.

"Christine was kidnapped by the Ghost!" Cosette whispered, her eyes large as she scanned the room. "No one has seen her since!"

"Don't be silly," Louise shook her head. "She's gone with the _Vicomte_, Raoul de Changy!"

"Isn't it romantic? He saved her," Jammes swooned, causing Angelique to bit her tongue as so she wouldn't burst into laughter.

"I'm not sure, this is all a bit strange," Charlotte shook her head. "Oh, by the by, we may have a new patron."

"A new patron? The de Changys are no longer involved with the _Palais_?" Angelique asked, startled by the news.

"Oh no, the _Comte_ is still giving his support," Meg informed her. "But there's an older gentleman from England who's making his residence here in Paris and claims to be interested. I heard from Maman."

"_Dear Madame Giry,"_ Angelique smiled, shaking her head.

"There's a rumor going around that Monsieurs Richard and Moncharmin are thinking about leaving and selling the opera," Josephine added. "What do you think of it?"

"If it's just a rumor, then I don't bother thinking of it," Angelique shrugged, ushering them inside and allowing them to sit anywhere they pleased while she reviewed her inventory. "If it's meant to be, then so be it."

"I wonder how…the Phantom will take the news," Jammes whispered, earning soft giggles from the girls when suddenly, a soft, velvety voice drifted through the room.

"Angelique…" the voice whispered, calling to her as the ballerinas paled and froze. "Angelique…my Angel…!"

"It's him!" whispered Louise, trembling in her tutu.

Angelique shivered at the sound of his voice, mysterious and almost seductive, but she had to bite her lip as so not to laugh at the young girls. They were absolutely petrified at Erik's antics, and she knew he was doing so to tease them. "Oh dear," she said aloud, forcing herself to look concerned and afraid.

"Angelique…why is the ghost calling for you?" Jammes asked, her head whipping from side to side to try and find the source.

"I'm not sure," she lied, looking towards the ceiling in an effort not to give away Erik's hiding place.

"Didn't you say the Opera Ghost kept you in his home for a time?" Cosette asked, her tiny fist placed over her heart as she fought to remain calm.

"He must be in love with you!" Jammes gasped, receiving a harsh jab in the ribs by Meg.

"Hold your tongues," she hissed at them, all the girls screaming as he called out once more.

"My Angelique…come to me…come and see me at Box Five," he whispered, making them all gape at Angelique. She could feel her cheeks flush with embarrassment and still fought to look utterly surprised by the request. "Angelique…Angelique, my Angel…" Slowly, his voice faded off until there was nothing. The stillness made them a little bolder, especially saucy little Jammes.

"Monsieur le Fantome, do you love her?" she called out.

"Jammes!" the girls hissed, flailing their arms violently at her in an effort to get her to shut up.

Covering her mouth, Angelique made a sound of amusement as she coughed back her laughter. "Well, he's quite gone now. Don't worry, I'm sure it's nothing-"

"Girls!"

The door swung open, sending the dancers into a fit of screams as La Sorelli entered the room, staring at the girls incredulously. "_Merde_! You're a bunch of ninnies!" she sneered before contemptuously turning her head towards the seamstress. "You've been given a order from Monsieurs Richard and Moncharmin."

"Yes?" Angelique asked, already knowing what she would say.

"They want you to clean Box Five – apparently, the Ghost is giving them trouble and won't allow anyone else to enter. If you can believe it, he's requesting you."

"Oh. Well, I suppose I'd best get to work," she said calmly, casting a teasing wink at the girls before excusing herself and sliding past La Sorelli.

The head dancer scoffed at this before sending a look at the girls. "Really, I don't see what the fuss is about with her." Tossing her curls over her shoulder, she took off down the way she came.

"I'm not waiting a moment longer in here," Meg stated, getting up and leaving at once.

"I think I'll go, too," Charlotte nodded, followed by Josephine.

One by one, all the girls filed out, still looking over their shoulders and giggling about the lovesick ghost, wondering about his rendezvous with the practical, sweet seamstress. They were all gone within seconds…all except Jammes, of course, who stood at the center of the room, still in awe and extremely curious about the specter's voice. "Monsieur Opera Ghost?" she called out tentatively, waiting for a response. "…are you still here?" She waited, nothing but the eerie, unsettling silence floating around her head, her lips puckering in a pout. "Hmph, some ghost-"

"MWAHAHAHAHAHA!" a thunderous, maniacal, chilling laugh filled the air, causing her to leap in fear as a shrill scream resounded from her mouth. Within seconds, she was running out the door and through the halls, the voice lowering to a delighted chuckle. "That was most entertaining…"

**~OG~**

Entering the elusive Box Five, Angelique set her materials down and shut the door behind her, tucking her hair into a bun before setting out to work. As she started polishing the railing, she could sense a figure standing behind her, his eyes boring onto her back. A smirk grew on her face, though she said nothing, as she continued to clean. She didn't stop until she had finished entirely, ready to dust the curtains and seats. Turning around, she took in the sight of the empty room, pouting as she figured that he would be hiding. Heaving a sigh, she walked back towards the corner where she had placed her cleaning supplies when a set of long, thin, powerful arms encircled her waist, pulling her into the shadows.

"Erik-!" she gasped, feeling his hand cover her mouth as he pressed a kiss to her collarbone.

"Hush, dearest. We wouldn't want your little friends or those idiot managers to hear you having a row in Box Five with a ghost now, would we?" he chuckled, sending shivers down her spine. Slowly, he pulled his hand away from her lips, letting her turn and face him.

"Erik, you scared us all!" she scolded him, playfully slapping his shoulder. "You'll get me in trouble!"

"You shall not be in trouble in Erik's Opera, Angelique," he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead. He rather liked kissing her when he wanted to without having to ask, and he could clearly see that she was enjoying it as well. "You should not have to clean, though-"

"You requested it," she smirked. "Besides, it's no different than tidying the house. Now, you'd best let me get to work, darling," she cooed, gently kissing his chin, hearing him sharply inhale at the gesture. "We can't be caught like this."

"_Darling."_ She had called him "darling", just as tenderly as he had called her "dearest", and it made his heart soar. Holding her to his chest, he pressed his lips to her forehead once more, sighing deeply as he felt her rest against him. "Very well, Angelique…Erik has errands to run. He shall see you tonight. May he escort you home?"

She giggled, nodding immediately. "Yes, Erik, I should like that very much. You know when to come. Now hurry, before someone-"

"Hullo? Is someone in here?"

The sound of a new, strange voice made them jump, gasping as they faced the door. The voice spoke French rather well, though his voice was tinted with a British accent. "Erik, go!" she whispered, kissing his lips quickly before pulling away and smoothing out her apron, grabbing the feather duster from her bag of cleaning supplies. Glancing over her shoulder, she grinned as she noticed that Erik had vanished, a small trapdoor in one of the columns silently clicking shut. As she took a step towards the door, it opened towards her, the sight of an elderly gentleman in his late eighties dressed in fine clothes with a pristine top hat filling the doorway. "_Pardon, monsieur_," she pleaded politely, curtsying before him. "I was just cleaning here. I shan't be out for a bit. Are you looking for someone?"

"_Oui_," he nodded, smiling warmly at her. His bushy white mustache and wrinkling face made him appear quite adorable as he chuckled at her. "I'm trying to find the Managers' Office, _mademoiselle_. I'm afraid I'm terribly lost, and I thought I heard voices in here, so I called out."

"You'll have to excuse me, I tend to talk to myself while I work," she lied, returning the friendly smile. "But I would be more than happy to take you to the office myself."

"You're too kind," he said, swiping his hat from his head and bowing to her. "Allow me to introduce myself – I am Lord Rupert Adelshire, I've just arrived from London."

"Welcome to Paris, Lord Adelshire," she curtsied once more. "I'm Angelique Archambault, seamstress and on-occasion maid."

He laughed heartily at her introduction when he suddenly snapped his fingers. "Archambault! As in Comte Pierre Archambault?"

"Yes," she nodded. "How do you-?"

"He and I were acquaintances when we were young men," he chuckled. "How is he?"

"I'm not sure. The last I heard of him was that he was very ill and resting in his country home," she answered honestly.

He shook his head, a "tsk" escaping his lips. "Such a shame…well, I'm sure things will turn up. How are you related?"

"I'm his niece, sir."

"Lovely!" he beamed. "Then this is truly a great honor! Would you guide me to the office, if it's not too much trouble?"

"Certainly," she smiled, setting the duster aside as she exited Box Five and led him away, the girls' words coming in to mind. _"There's an older gentleman from England who's making his residence here in Paris and claims to be interested in the _Garnier_."_ She glanced over at the gentleman, reasoning that this must be the new patron. _"He certainly seems very pleasant,"_ she noted, liking how he smiled and gently jested with her. Her reminded her of the grandfathers she had often heard about from the ballet girls' stories of home and family.

Arriving at the door, she knocked thrice and waited until Moncharmin opened the door.

"Yes-? Oh! Angelique! You've found Lord Adelshire!" he beamed, ushering the man in. "Thank you, my dear."

"Of course," she bobbed another curtsy. "Excuse me, I need to get back to work."

"Thank you again, my dear," Adelshire smiled, taking her hand and kissing it. "I certainly hope this is not the last time we meet."

"I'm sure we'll see each other again, _monsieur_," she reassured him warmly. "Good day!"

He tipped his hat to her before entering, allowing Moncharmin to shut the door after him.

"Rupert! Good to see you, old man," Firmin Richard beamed, rising from his seat and shaking hands with the old acquaintance. "Any trouble finding the place?"

"None at all, it's absolutely exquisite!" Adelshire praised the building before taking his seat. "Thank you for having me. I'm looking forward to enjoying my retirement and patronage of this fine establishment. I hear you're putting on _Romeo et Juliette_ within a week's time – it's my favorite!"

"Yes, well, with the recent issues with _Faust_, we thought we'd move on and try something different," grimaced Richard. "We're also in the process of hiring a new _prima donna_ – La Carlotta has decided to retire and Christine Daae has up and vanished." He sighed, sinking into his seat and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I never imagined this would get so out of hand…"

"You mean with this Opera Ghost?" Adelshire raised an eyebrow. "What's so bad about him?"

"The murders, the blackmail, the orders and notes, the humiliation!" Richard wailed, his face in his hands. "And he demands we pay his salary!"

Moncharmin nodded solemnly to show that his friend was quite serious. "If you're still willing to consider purchasing the opera after seeing what he does, I'd consider you the bravest soul alive."

"What if you just follow his orders?" Adelshire suggested, watching their jaws drop. "I'm simply saying that if you followed his orders – which really don't seem so terrible, except the salary, perhaps that could be worked out – then you wouldn't have so many problems!" Selecting a letter they had recently received from the Phantom, he checked over the demands and said, "Listen to me – pay him the remaining amount and leave him a note wishing to discuss negotiation, hire this Rebecca Anderson girl for the new _prima donna_, and leave Box Five empty. If my advice does not result in excellent sales and a flawless evening, then I shall leave the opera business to you and only continue as patron. How does that sound?"

Sharing tired and frustrated glances, the two men sighed in defeat. "Very well. We'll try it."

"Good," Adelshire beamed. "Now then, I should like to hear about these latest incidents, and do tell me more about the Opera Ghost. I should like to get to know him if all goes well and I should find the need to hire a new manager once you both retire."


	18. Becca the Bold

**Chapter Eighteen - Becca the Bold**

Erik slunk into the passage through the _Rue-Scribe_, adjusting his felt hat and touching his false nose to make sure they were both in place as he carried in his parcels. He moved quickly, heading straight for Angelique's workroom. Though there were things he would much rather leave at home, it was too much trouble to take them back and then go running so that he wouldn't be late to pick her up. Besides, he was certain she would be more than happy to help him.

Arriving at the door, he listened, waiting to hear her voice.

"Thank you, Madame Giry," Angelique said from the other side. "I'll be certain to give it to him."

"_Merci_, my dear," the woman's voice floated in. "Good night."

"Good night," Angelique answered cheerfully.

He heard the door click shut and the young seamstress heave a sigh of relief. He waited, with his hands full, until she had collected herself and her belongings and pressed the nail into the wall. Angelique's eyes widened and a laugh escaped her as she took in the sight of Erik laden with parcels. "Erik?! What in Heaven's name-?!"

"Erik just returned from shopping," he grimaced. "He hates to ask, but-"

"Let me help you," she giggled, taking several bags from him while he retained several boxes. "Just what did you go shopping for anyways? I thought you were running a few errands and getting supper."

"Erik did. He also got a few other items," he shrugged, shutting the door before leading her back down to their underground home. He didn't want her finding out about the surprises…not yet anyways. "How was your day, dearest?"

"Lovely," she answered. "I got plenty of the costumes finished, and I just thought of a new idea for the party dress for Juliette in Act 1…oh! Madame Giry gave me a note that's addressed to you. It's from the managers."

"The managers?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the news. They never wrote back, either from fear, disbelief, or resentment. Even the old managers made sure to respond when he made an inquiry about any topic.

"I know, strange, isn't it?" she mused. "At any rate, she says that it was mostly at the request of the new patron that you receive this letter."

"Ah yes, the gentleman who destroyed our moment of private intimacy," he sniffed, earning another giggle from her.

"He's really quite nice, Erik. Give him a chance," she suggested, following him through the secret tunnel to avoid having to pass the lake.

Arriving upon the other side, Erik unlocked the door and motioned for her to enter before closing the door after himself. "Set them here," he told her, entering the drawing room and placing the items on the rug before the hearth. "Erik shall take the bags – those have our supper." He pointed to the boxes upon the floor before waggling his finger at her with a smirk. "Do not open those until I return." He took off, seemingly excited as he ran out of the room.

Angelique sat down in her chair, perplexed at his before selecting a square box wrapped in pink ribbon. She gave it a gentle shake, listening to its contents topple over inside. There was an assortment of these boxes, some large, some slim, some tiny, but all of them were decorated quite beautifully, clearly meant for a female. Her jaw dropped as she made the connection. "Oh dear…"

"You didn't open them, did you?" he asked, his voice smooth and deep as he entered the room once more, sitting down in his chair.

"Erik…are you spoiling me?" she asked, gaping at him with large, stunned eyes.

"Perhaps," he said vaguely, fiddling with the buttons on his jacket.

"Erik, I don't need all this, really!" she insisted when he suddenly took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. "Erik-?"

"All Erik's life, he desperately wished for a wife to take out on Sundays, for a woman to come home to that would not despise or fear him," he murmured softly, raising his sad eyes to hers. "You have suffered much, Angelique, and now that you have made this your home, and you have accepted Erik, he wishes to…spoil you, every so often." Placing her hand on the armrest, he twiddled his thumbs nervously before rambling, "Of course, if you truly do not wish for this, or if you terribly despise them, Erik could-" He never finished his sentence, his lips silenced by hers as she sat on his lap and embraced him.

Pulling away, she removed his mask and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Erik…I can't remember the last time I was given so many gifts…I just don't want you to squander everything on me."

"Erik would buy you the world, _mon cher_, if it made you happy," he choked, fighting the tears he felt coming through his eyes. He was still unaccustomed to such displays of affection, extremely grateful that he had found such a loving, caring woman. Giving her a tender smile, he tucked her hair away from her face and motioned towards the boxes. "Go on. Open them."

"But I have nothing for you," she said shamefully.

He touched her cheek, leaning in and inhaling sharply as he dared to kiss her lips for an instant. "You are all Erik ever wants or needs." He felt his stomach flutter as he watched her blush, his smile growing. "Open them."

Defeated, she arose from his lap and sat before the hearth, opening one box after the next, finding an assortment of new shoes and dresses, some meant for work, others for formal events, still others for casual times. "Oh, Erik! You shouldn't have!" she gushed, loving the new outfits. "How did you find out my measurements?"

"Please do not ask Erik that," he blushed, looking away from her as she asked him, causing her to laugh. "He can simply…tell."

"All right then," she snickered, trying in vain to stop laughing. Reaching out, she grabbed the last box – a tiny cube of royal blue velvet, shimmering in the light of the room. "What could this b-? OH!" Her hand flew to her heart as she saw a glowing, circular golden locket, a rose in full bloom engraved on the front. "Erik-!"

"Open it," he whispered, his fingers interlaced and clenched in anxiety as he watched her complete his command.

She gasped as she saw two impeccable, tiny paintings within – one of herself, the other of him, mask-less. "Erik-!"

"If you would rather have Erik with his mask on, or not in the locket at all-" he started, stopping as she sobbed. "Angelique?!" he asked, frightened that he had upset her.

"Erik…this is the most beautiful gift I've ever received," she sniffled, wiping her face in vain as she carefully took the locket out and held it up. "I never had anything like this before…and you added the paintings! Did you make them?"

"Yes," he answered quietly, shyly looking away.

Closing it shut, she sat on the footstool, facing the fire and pulling her hair over one shoulder to expose her neck. "Will you help me put it on?"

With trembling fingers, he did so, watching her as she admired how it rested upon her collarbone, glittering in the light. "Do you like it-?"

"I adore it," she beamed, her eyes shining as she continued to dry her face. She leaned into his hand as he touched her cheek, covering it with her own as she gazed at him. "Thank you, darling."

He sighed, sitting on the edge of his seat as he pulled her into an embrace. "Say it again," he pleaded.

"Darling…my darling Erik," she said, her voice soft and song-like as she happily said the phrase, feeling him shiver in delight. She snuggled into his arms when she felt a soft poke in her apron. "Oh! I almost forgot…the letter," she said, retrieving it from her pocket and offering it to him. "Madame said it was important."

"Hmph," he grumbled, taking the envelope and breaking the seal carelessly. "Just what do those fools think they can-?" He paused, his brows furrowing as he read the letter.

"_Greetings Monsieur Opera Ghost,_

_I am writing on behalf of my comrades M. Moncharmin and Richard, the current managers of this fine establishment. I am the new patron of the_ Palais Garnier _– Lord Rupert Adelshire, recently arrived from London, England. Being that you are the 'Phantom' of this place, I have no doubt that you are already aware of my existence._

_I have taken the liberty on behalf of the managers to read through your previous notes, and I see no reason as to not follow your orders. Having come from several years of managing banks and making investments, I know a man in charge when I see one (or his writing for that matter). I can see the reason behind the 'madness' of your demands and have asked the managers to follow your instructions explicitly, at least until the show date for_'Romeo et Juliette'. _Therefore, you shall be receiving the remainder of your salary for the month within the next twenty-four hours; Miss Rebecca Anderson from America has been hired and is in the process of moving her belongings to Paris; and we hope you will attend the performance next week in your private Box Five._

_It should be noted,_ monsieur_, that I am considering purchasing the Opera House, and if all goes well, I shall be needing a manager to take charge. I do not believe that a genius such as yourself would be a ghost – if you are willing to meet and negotiate, I would very much like to hear from you and discuss your opinion._

_I look forward to hearing from you soon._

_Warmest regards,_

_R. Adelshire"_

"What is it, Erik?" Angelique asked, noticing how he stared at the note in utter shock. "What's wrong?"

"…it has to be a trick, a trap," he muttered, stroking his chin in thought. He mindlessly handed the letter to Angelique, letting her read through the note, her own eyes widening.

"_Mon Dieu_! Erik, isn't this wonderful?!" she beamed, leaping up and kissing his cheek, startling and distracting him from his thoughts. "Your talents are being recognized!"

"Or it could be a farce," he frowned, shaking his head. "This man cannot be all he seems to be-"

"Erik, I met him. He's a gentleman, a sweet grandfatherly fellow. At least give him a chance," she pleaded, placing her hands over his.

Heaving a tired sigh, he gently took hold of her chin and kissed her nose. "Erik can deny you nothing, my love. Lord Adelshire will be given the week – Erik shall watch him very closely, and if all goes well, he shall be invited to our box."

"Our box?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow playfully at him.

"Why do you think Erik bought you new dresses?" he grinned. "Angelique…would you watch 'Romeo et Juliette' with me-?"

"I thought you'd never ask!" she squealed in delight, placing another kiss on his lips, his mind going into a tizzy as she jumped up and gathered her new belongings. "I'll clean this up – you write a letter to Lord Adelshire so I can take it in the morning!"

Chuckling as he watched her run off excitedly, he shook his head and arose, walking to his mausoleum-like quarters. Sitting down at his desk, he selected a slip of paper and dipping his quill into his famous red ink. _"I only hope you are right, Angelique…"_

**~OG~**

True to the English man's word, when Erik checked in his box the following morning, Madame Giry was waiting with an envelope containing his cheque.

"It is about time," Madame stated cheekily as she placed the envelope on the nearest seat. "If you do not mind my saying, _monsieur_," she added politely. She picked up another envelope that lay close by, the name "Adelshire" scribbled in red ink on the cover.

"I agreed wholeheartedly, Madame Juliette," Erik answered, mulling over the idea of working and speaking with Lord Adelshire. He could not help but feel the same spark of hope that Angelique contained, though he remained extremely wary of it. "You will give that to Lord Adelshire, won't you?"

"The moment I leave, sir," she bobbed her head, the feathers in her bonnet quivering. "He is with Monsieurs Moncharmin and Richard to greet the new _prima donna_."

"Excellent," Erik nodded, recalling how he had heard of the woman. It was during the masquerade when he had lost Angelique and came back from spying on Christine, when he heard a radiant, piercing voice as he came back to the foyer. The woman was in her early thirties, with bright red hair and stunning green eyes, a wide smile upon her lips. He had heard her speaking with Moncharmin that night, explaining how she was visiting France and dreamed of working in an opera house as grand as this one someday. "Rebecca Anderson," she introduced herself, her American accent barely noticeable. He had assumed that she was partially French, allowing her to speak so eloquently. He had not forgotten her; with the news that La Carlotta was eager to leave, and with Christine gone, they needed someone else, else they would be closed. Before they could hold auditions, he sent the idiot managers a note ordering them to hire the woman.

Now it was coming into place – all because of the British gentleman who listened to him. "That will be all, Madame Giry," he said at last, watching her leave. He waited until she had gone down the hall before slipping out and taking the envelope, ripping it open and reading the cheque. He nodded, satisfied with the amount, and tucked it into his coat pocket before stepping out into the hall, checking to see if anyone was there, and made his way towards the foyer. Slipping into a hiding place behind one of the grand columns, he spied on the group below.

"Welcome, my dear!" Moncharmin greeted the redhead warmly as she stepped into the opera. "We are most delighted you accepted our invitation!

"How could I refuse?" she beamed. "I'm honored you thought of me."

"We had help," Adelshire chuckled, causing Erik to stiffen as he realized he was being subtly noted.

The men introduced themselves to her and were about to guide her in when Madame Giry approached them with Angelique at her side. Erik's heartbeat sped up, wishing he could go out to her and spin her in his embrace.

"_Pardon, monsieurs, madame_, but I have a note," Giry cut in, handing the paper over to Adelshire, who accepted with a smile.

"_Merci_, Madame Giry!" he thanked her heartily before turning his attention to Angelique. "Ah! Mademoiselle Archambault, how do you do?! It's so good to see your face again."

"You flatter me, _monsieur_," she blushed, accepting a kiss on the hand.

"Madame Giry is the concierge here," Richard grumbled while Giry bobbed a curtsy at the new singer.

"And this is Angelique Archambault," Moncharmin added warmly, motioning for Angelique to step forward. "She's the seamstress, the finest in all of Paris!"

"_Monsieur_, please," she whispered, embarrassed by all the attention. Erik grinned, delighted that she was finally getting credited for her astounding work, a swell of pride filling him. The girl bowed to Anderson, greeting her. "Welcome, Madame-"

"Call me Becca," the woman grinned, shaking hands with Angelique. "All my friends do. I can't wait to get to know you all, I'm so excited! And what about this ghost you have-?"

"Just silly rumors and pranks!" Richard yelped, unwilling to admit the truth.

"I am no rumor, nor prank…I'm here…" Erik cast his voice, eerie and seductive all at once, making them quiver. He smirked, happy to irk that fool Firmin Richard.

"…my word!" gasped Rebecca, a thrilled smile on her face. "I think I'm going to like it here! This will be much more fun than New York!"

"She's mad," Richard hissed to the other gentlemen.

"Ah…the Phantom wishes you a warm welcome," Angelique smiled nervously. "I'm so very sorry, Madame-"

"Becca," the woman insisted.

"Becca," she smiled. "I realize you just arrived, but the show is only a week away and I have several outfits for you that need to be fitted or remade, so I need your measurements."

"Of course!" she grinned, linking arms with the girl. "Gentlemen, you won't mind if I go with Angelique, will you? Thank you so much! Ta-ta!" she waved gaily, never waiting for a response as she scurried off, practically dragging Angelique with her.

Madame Giry gave a wry smile and shook her head, excusing herself before she took off in the opposite direction.

"…Mon Dieu, what have we gotten ourselves into?" moaned Richard.

"I like her!" Adelshire beamed. "Sweet, yet very forward. Perfect _prima donna_ if you ask me!"

Moncharmin shrugged until he noticed the letter in Adelshire's hands. "It seems we have a response."

Breaking the seal, Adelshire withdrew the note and read aloud. Erik held his breath, listening to his own words.

"Lord Adelshire, I am most pleased and surprised by the news in your letter. I shall, however, give you a chance to prove yourself…" He paused, then continued again. "I look forward to getting to know you in the week to come. Your humble servant, O.G."

Erik breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that Adelshire had withheld an important sentence in that short note, one which read, "I shall expect you see you, if all goes well, in Box Five, during the performance of _'Romeo et Juliette'_, to further discuss the pressing matters you have brought up." He was impressed by Adelshire's discreetness – should the managers find out about his agreement to meet on the night of the performance, they might try to spy, or possibly call the police. Perhaps this man could be trusted…

"Well, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" Adelshire smiled at the men. Tucking it into his coat, he waved a hand at them. "You had nothing to worry about."

"I don't trust that…that _thing_!" Richard spat.

"Calm down, man," Moncharmin cautioned him. "There's nothing we can do now. Let's just follow through."

"If everything really does work out, I'm retiring," Richard snapped.

Erik chuckled, slipping into a secret door down the hall and walking down the passageway. "Retire after being here only a month? Tsk…Pitiful…what a relief."

**~OG~**

"What's New York like?" Angelique asked as she unrolled the measuring tape and got to work.

"Loud, crowded, and at times obnoxious," answered Becca. "In a way, a brasher version of Paris. But it's really quite lovely here, and I've already had the idea in mind to move here permanently. I'm waiting for some of my furniture from back home to arrive. I've got a little place set up a few streets away from the Opera House."

"How exciting," Angelique grinned, scribbling the notes on the _prima donna's_ body type onto a slip of paper. "Where were you taught to sing, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Of course not, dearest," she laughed merrily. "I had a private tutor since I was a child, and then attended a school as I got older. There are lots of schools in New York for the arts, you see. I wasn't born there, though – I came from a state called Ohio, my family moved to New York because of my father's sudden success in business."

"That's extremely fortunate," Angelique nodded. Finished with the measuring, she set her materials aside and tentatively asked, "…are you married?"

"Widowed," she answered with a sad smile, showing her wedding band which hung from a chain around her neck. "My husband died a month after we were married. Got himself killed in a brawl…he was a drinker, it was stupid of me to marry a man like that, but God help me, I loved him…" She sniffled, accepting a kerchief from the seamstress. "Sorry, Angie – may I call you that? I tend to blubber and ramble on when I get emotional."

"Don't be sorry," she shook her head. "We've all gone through hard times and need to share our burdens with someone." She patted her shoulder comfortingly, earning a smile from the new singer. "…how would you like to give me your opinion on some designs of mine?" she offered in an effort to cheer the woman up.

"Oh, I'd love that!" she beamed when there was a knock on the door. "You go ahead and grab those sketches, Angie, I'll get the door," she winked, earning a grin from the girl. Turning about, she walked over and turned the knob, tugging the door open in the expectation of finding the managers or even Adelshire. Instead, she found herself staring into a set of serious jade eyes, startling her.

"_Pardon_," he said, his Persian accent thick as he spoke. "I'm looking for Angelique-"

"Hello, Daroga," Angelique waved as she snatched her papers and hurried to the door, urging him to come in. "Do come in. Daroga, this is Rebecca Anderson, our new prima donna. Becca, this is a frequent visitor of the _Palais Garnier_. Everyone calls him 'the Persian'."

"Do they?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "And the term 'Daroga'?"

"A title from my old country," he informed her, taking in her form and face. "Close acquaintances call me by that name."

"Then what is your real name?" she asked, cocking her head.

He blinked, startled by her forwardness. "…Nadir," he said, his eyes widening in shock as he realized what he had done.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" frowned Angelique, pouting at him playfully.

"I didn't mean to-" he growled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. "Never mind. What's said is said."

"I'm sorry," Becca apologized sincerely. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

He waved it off, bowing politely to her. "I did not mean to interrupt, but I do have a message for...our friend," he said, knowing that Angelique would catch on.

"What happened?" she asked, placing her hands upon her hips.

"I just found out through the Comte de Changy…Christine and Raoul have eloped."


	19. Triumphant Indeed

**Chapter Nineteen - Triumphant Indeed**

Erik scribbled on, consumed with excitement and glee. He had been working on this since he returned from watching the new prima donna enter the opera, and eavesdropped on the managers. He hadn't eaten, scarcely blinked. He'd lost sense of time and being when at last he splattered the last note onto the parchment. He gave a great gasp, realizing how tense he had become as he had finished his work. Holding it delicately in his fingers, he trembled, a smile on his unmasked face. "…I did it," he breathed.

"Erik? Are you home?" Angelique's voice rang through the air, making him spin around and rush out towards her. "Oh, there you are-! Oof!" she gasped as he tackled her with an embrace, picking her up and spinning her around, his monstrous face beaming with ecstasy. "Erik-?!"

"I did it, my Angel!" he cried, spinning faster until he thought he might collapse.

"Did what?" she asked, starting to laugh. He'd never been this excited in the time they'd known each other. As he set her down, she caught sight of the set of papers gripped in one hand. Her eyes widened as she made the connection. "Erik…is that-?"

"'_Don Juan Triumphant'_, Angelique – it's _finished_!" he smiled, an uncertain laugh escaping him. "I did it! It's complete!"

"Oh, Erik!" she squealed in delight, throwing her arms around him, kissing his mouth with such a fervent passion that he was stunned for several seconds before finally registering what had happened. Drowning in intoxicating bliss from completing his work and being kissed rather provocatively by the woman he loved, he parted his lips and deepened the kiss, startling her for a moment. She returned the gesture, however, when he suddenly pulled away, gasping for breath.

"No…no, my feisty Angel," he breathed, running his hands through her hair. "We must stop before Erik gets carried away."

"Carried away?" she echoed, blushing as she realized what he was saying.

"Erik does not wish to…go too far, if you understand what he's trying to say," he stammered, clearing his throat in embarrassment. "But believe Erik when he says that he truly appreciates the enthusiasm you've shown him."

She ducked her head down, her face bright red. His hand cupped under her chin and gently forced her to look into his eyes, a smile on his lips. "Thank you, my Angel."

She smiled back, embracing him as she planted a sweet kiss on the corner of his mouth. "I'm so happy for you, Erik…will you play some of it for me?"

"I was about to ask," he murmured, stroking her hair.

She snuggled in his embrace, her smile growing as she noticed how much more he was started to refer to himself by "I" and "me" instead of his name. Her smile faded as she remembered the news that the Persian had told her, the air around her suddenly feeling cold. She had to tell Erik – one way or another he would find out…she was so frightened of how he might react, though… _"No…I can't be afraid. I trust Erik."_ "I saw the Daroga today."

"Hmm," he chuckled, pulling back to look down at her when he saw how the light in her eyes had dimmed. His brows furrowed as he became concerned. "What's wrong? What did he say?" he asked, his hands on her shoulders.

"He told me that…" She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, taking a moment to muster her courage. "…he told me that Christine and Raoul have eloped. Not even the Comte has any idea where they are currently."

He blinked, silent. "…what else?" he asked calmly.

She gawked at him. "I…I thought that you'd be furious!"

"I let Christine go to marry the boy, didn't I?" he asked, unimpressed with the news. "Is that all that's bothering you, dearest?"

"But-" she started, freezing as he placed his forefinger upon her lips.

"Angelique, believe me – I love _you_, not Christine," he told her, tenderly kissing her forehead. "Christine will always be special to Erik and have a special place in his heart…but it is you that Erik craves. It is you that Erik depends on, and he knows that he can count on you for anything." Trailing his finger down her lips, he dropped it to her locket and gently tapped it. "Let this serve as a reminder of Erik's faithfulness to you, my Angelique…Erik shall always love you, and no one else."

Her eyes watered despite her best efforts as she sobbed, kissing his face before burying her own in his chest. "I love you, Erik! God help me, I love you so much," she wept.

He felt his heart ache as he squeezed her in an embrace, rubbing his hand upon her back in an effort to soothe her. Softly, he began to sing to her something from his completed work.

"_With a kiss I seal this vow,_

_The ache and longing ends._

_The grief and pain is all past,_

_Our happiness begins._

_So this is how the story ends,_

_The tale of You and I._

_We shall never be parted,_

_Not even when we die."_

"Erik," she sighed, nuzzling against him. "Those lines you sing…the story of _Don Juan_…is that-?"

"Our story," he whispered, confessing the truth. "You altered the story, Angelique…you improved it. It ends in hope, not tragedy."

"Oh, Erik," she smiled, another set of tears sliding down her face. "…Erik, promise me something."

"Anything."

"Get your work published."

"_Pardon_?" he asked, pulling back to stare down and raise an eyebrow at her.

"If all goes well with Monsieur Adelshire, you should get your opera published, and have it performed here," she insisted. "Oh please, Erik!"

A tumble of emotions churned and swept through him as he caressed her cheek. "…is that truly what you wish?"

"With all my heart," she nodded. "Not because it's out story, but because it's a marvelous accomplishment – it's brilliant, and it's _yours_. The world should share in something so rare and beautiful. Please, Erik – do everything you can to have your opera on stage someday!"

His throat became dry as he listened to her, his smile growing as he held her close. He had never had anyone to share happiness, triumphs, sorrows, troubles…now here he was, with Angelique in his arms, praising him, encouraging him. Gripping her hand and placing a kiss on it, he murmured, "I promise, Angelique, I shall get _Don Juan Triumphant_ published…even if it's the last thing I do."

**~OG~**

"It's so nice to get out and run errands for Maman," Meg chirped, happy to be spending time with the seamstress as they walked the busy streets of Paris. "I practically live in the opera – thank you for asking me to join you!"

"It's my pleasure," Angelique grinned, patting the girl's shoulder comfortingly. "I enjoy your company, Meg, and we don't get to spend much time together, at least not alone."

Meg giggled, understanding what she meant. "Yes…Jammes likes to hover. I suppose we all do."

Angelique and Meg had just begun their shopping journey, stopping and peeping in through display windows every so often. The slush crunched under their feet, signaling the end of winter and the prelude to a bright, warm spring as the air grew warmer. They two giggled and jested, stopping and smelling flowers sold by the local vendor, even purchasing two small pastries to share and munch on as they walked along. Moving past yet another store, Angelique paused the moment her eyes caught sight of a set of cufflinks, delicately and intricately engraved with the finest roses she had ever seen.

"What is it?" Meg asked, noticing how she stared. Her brown eyes soon caught sight of the trinkets, a thought clicking into her brain. "…Angelique…are you and the Phantom…?" she started, extremely suspicious.

Biting her lip, she glanced over and sighed. Grasping the girls hands in her own, she whispered, "Will you swear not to tell anyone?" Meg nodded. Angelique knew she could trust Meg – she was maturing, trustworthy, and kindhearted. Had it been another girl, she would have instantly lied, but she found herself relying on Meg more and more when it came to making up stories as to where she had been spending her time and with whom. "…his name is Erik…we're courting."

Her jaw dropped for an instant before she recomposed herself. "…you and the O.G.? Heavens!" She released a breath of shock, shaking her head.

Angelique blushed. "You won't tell-"

"No, of course not! Jammes would be jabbering like a parakeet if she knew!...you're certain he won't hurt you?"

"He would never hurt me," she shook her head. "He's…changing. Little things, habits, mannerisms, actions…he's changing into a better person, Meg."

"So he's a man?" she smirked. "It would be best not to tell Maman – she thinks he's a ghost who will find me some Emperor to marry!"

"How did you know-?" Angelique asked, having been informed in different ways from both Erik and Giry.

"I'm a ballet rat – I know ways of eavesdropping on my mother," she winked, causing them both to laugh. "So," she said once they had caught their breaths. "The locket was a gift from your beau?"

The seamstress nodded, blushing as she touched the trinket. "I want to get something special for him…those cufflinks would be just charming, they're perfect for him!...but I need to check the price," she confessed. "I have money saved from the work I do with the costumes, but I don't know if it's enough."

"Then let's find out," grinned Meg, tugging her arm as she yanked her towards the store door. "Let's go!"

**~OG~**

"Would you mind waiting here?" Richard asked Adelshire as he entered the office. "Armand has gone to check on Miss Anderson's rehearsal and hasn't been back for a time. Shouldn't be out too long, really-"

"Take your time," Adelshire waved him off, seating himself comfortably in one of the chairs. "I haven't been able to read the papers this morning, I'll just catch up on it now," he grinned, pulling a folded front page from his coat pocket. "I'll find ways to entertain myself, you go."

"Merci," Richard nodded, shutting the door as he hurried.

Adelshire chuckled, shaking his head as he opened the sheet. "That man runs around and panics more than a rabbit."

"Indeed."

"Yes, he's quite the-" He stopped, his mind registering the fact that a regal, velvet-like voice had just responded to him. The hairs stood on the back of his neck, especially when he felt that there was a presence in the room, though he couldn't pinpoint where. Immediately, he thought of one person. "_Monsieur…le Fantome_?" he asked aloud, his eyes sweeping across the room for any detail that might lead him to the voice.

"Lord Adelshire," the perfect voice answered back coolly. "I take it you are quite eager to speak with me."

"I…most certainly am," he nodded, rising from his seat. "Just where are you, anyways?"

"That is unimportant for the moment. You shall see me on the night of the performance," he reassured him. "However, I was rather curious and decided it might be a good idea to speak with you every so often on small details of the progress of this performance."

"I see," Adelshire answered, unable to hold back a chuckle. "I must say, you have rather impeccable taste – this is a fine establishment, you selected a marvelous and pleasant new star, and the seamstress is quite the charmer, not to mention the costumes I've seen her make!"

"Yes, I do keep an eye out for little things of the like," the voice admitted, sounding pleased that he had noticed. "…you mentioned you were looking for a manager should you decide to purchase the opera from the current owners."

"_Oui_, I am."

"Why me?"

"It's rather obvious, don't you think?" Adelshire asked, setting his newspaper down. "You just proved my point a moment ago…you are attentive to everything here, you strive for perfection. One would have to be a fool not to notice that you are a devoted man to the arts."

"We currently have _two_ fools who do not notice, and they currently run the theater. Shall I introduce you to them?" the voice answered crisply, earning a laugh from the elder.

"You are a witty one, sir…tell me, why do you call yourself a 'ghost', anyways?"

"…when one is in a state such as myself, it would be better off to be considered a ghost…but you knew from the start I was not."

"Ghosts, as far as I am concerned, do not scheme or write notes or direct managers to put on brilliant operas – they are lost souls that wander and have no purpose," Adelshire spoke, placing his hands behind his back. "Therefore, I could tell you were a man, my friend, and I hoped we might at least communicate in one form or another. If you wish it, continue to send your notes on improvements – I shall convince my comrades to reinforce these orders, and if we can convince them to do these things and have the performance be a success, I can offer you their role and you truly would be the one running the show."

"Why?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"_Why_ are you so insistent on _me_ being a part of this plan?" There was a hint of suspicion in his tone, understandably so.

"Because you love it." Adelshire sighed as he sat back down, stroking his moustache. "It's so clear that you love this, you would do anything to ensure that all goes well and that everyone does their best while others – unfortunately like my old acquaintances – simply want the queues that come with the money and filled seats. So long as the show is adequate, they could care less…but this is truly an art, a talent you have, my friend! You could make this the most incredible place on earth to come to…I love opera, but I am not of your caliber. I work well with the digits and seeing opportunities. Then again, this is an opportunity for the both of us, is it not?"

The room was silent, not a single sound taking place other than Adelshire's breathing. He had begun to wonder if the 'ghost' had gone when a defeated sigh filled the room.

"Very well…I accept."

"Excellent!" he beamed, grabbing his paper once more. "I take it we shall be speaking again soon?"

"Oh yes, very soon…" the voice faded out, just seconds before the two managers entered the room.

"We hope we haven't kept you waiting too long, Rupert," Richard apologized, sending Moncharmin a look of exasperation.

"Oh no, don't worry about it," he smiled knowingly. "I was quite occupied while you were out."

**~OG~**

Angelique grinned as she heard the trapdoor slide open, looking over her shoulder to see Erik entering the room. "Just a moment, darling," she said, slipping a bolt of cloth back into its cubby with some difficulty.

"Allow me," he offered, helping her shove it in place. "You seem happy."

"So do you," she noted. "What have you been up to?"

"Quite a bit. Erik has much to tell you, but he would rather do it elsewhere," he smirked.

She raised an eyebrow at him though she could not suppress a smile. "All right…where to?"

He offered her his arm, saying nothing, waiting until she linked hers with his before guiding her out through the hall once they had checked if the coast was clear. Erik was wearing his false nose and skin colored make-up, allowing him to appear more bearable to passersby, which made her wonder what he was up to under he brought her outside and into the street, where a brougham carriage awaited them.

"A carriage ride?" she asked, delighted and curious.

"Would you like to?" he asked. "Erik could always send him away-"

"Of course not, this is so romantic," she said, touching his shoulder with her free hand. "But I'm not dressed properly-"

"It's just a ride around town and back to the _Garnier_," he promised. "There's another surprise on the roof. Besides, Angelique looks beautiful in anything she wears."

"Oh Erik," she blushed as she laughed cheerfully. "You're just full of surprises tonight, aren't you? Well, lead the way!"

The pair entered the carriage and Erik called to the driver, letting Angelique rest her head upon his shoulder, his arm curling around her. The carriage started slowly before reentering the street, its pace soothing as the horse trotted along calmly. Erik gazed out the window, a flood of memories bombarding him as he realized all he had gone through to arrive at this point in his life. After so many painful experiences, dark events and actions, and heart wrenching thoughts and truths, here he was, on a Friday night, riding around town with a young lady who loved him despite his hideous face. He rested his cheek on her shoulder, enjoying the cool breeze that blew through the opened windows, the warmth of her body radiating onto his.

"So, what have you been up to?" she repeated, enjoying the feel of his protective hold on her.

"Erik has spoken with Lord Adelshire," he commented.

She pulled back, gazing at him in awe. "Did you?!"

"Well, not face to face," he shrugged. "But we did speak."

"And…?" she prodded on.

He inhaled deeply and sighed, giving her a look of uncertainty. "…Erik has agreed – should all go well, mind you – that he shall be the new manager of the opera."

"Erik, that's wonderful!" she cheered, kissing his cheek to his delight. "You're perfect for that – I mean, you already tell the managers what needs to be done and what has to be improved, but…oh! This is so exciting!"

"It is an…honorable profession," he admitted, toying with the rim of his hat. "And Erik _does_ have several ideas for the future…It will be strange not being 'the Opera Ghost'."

"Who said you could stop?" she grinned playfully, earning a chuckle out of him. "But this is wonderful, Erik! I'm so happy for you…I'm so proud of you!"

"Proud?" he choked. He had never had anyone tell him they were proud of him…it made his heart swell with happiness to know she was proud of him, that she supported him. "…thank you, Angelique."

She kissed his hand placed it to her cheek, smiling as he caressed her face. "What else? You said there were several topics you wanted to discuss."

He nodded. "Erik will keep his promise to Angelique on publishing his work, however, she must promise something in return."

"What's that?" she asked, cocking her head at his proposal.

His eyes locked with hers, a shiver passing through her as she felt him stare intensely at her. "…_you_ must play the part of Isabel."

She blinked, stunned. "W-What?!" she gasped. "B-But Erik, I can't-!"

"You improve each day with your lessons," he pleaded. "If I am to become manager, I could get my work published much more easily, and possibly get it on the stage here…but Erik wants you to sing Isabel's part."

"I'm not a singer or an actress, Erik, and I get terrible stage fright!" she blushed, shaking her head.

"But I wrote that part for you alone."

"What?" She raised her head, stunned once more by what came out of his mouth.

He took her hands in his, the truth finally coming out. "Pitiful Erik imagined himself to be the great Don Juan, who would woo the beautiful Adalia to be his for all time…Erik was nearly finished when suddenly, he met you…and then the story changed, my Angel. Adalia's humble servant, Isabel, was the one who won Don Juan's heart, and thus the story changed from bitter tragedy and resentment into one of hope and love…you are my sweet Isabel, Angelique…I am your Don Juan." Leaning over, he kissed her forehead. "However, Erik understands what you feel and say about performing. He shall not ask it of you if you are uncomfortable…"

She bit her lip, torn between fear and love, curious to try her hand at a small performance, and yet frightened to death that she would be scorned. Swallowing, she took a breath and said, "I…I'll think about it, Erik. If this is what you want and you're certain…" He nodded, reminding her of an eager child. "…I want to make sure I know the parts and can sing them properly before I make a decision, you understand don't you?"

"Of course," he smiled.

"I just don't want you making a _prima donna_ of me," she said wryly. "I'm very happy being a seamstress, and I don't plan on taking Becca's place any time soon."

"Of course not," he chuckled, taking her hand and kissing it tenderly. "Erik is quite content with you just the way you are."

"That's a relief," she smirked, jabbing him in the ribs. Her smile faded, her lips pursing as she thought of something.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concern bubbling within him.

"…If I agree to be Isabel, will you do something for me?"

"Yes, of course, whatever you wish," he answered, wondering what could have her so worried.

"…please don't be angry with me," she pleaded. "But Erik…please, I want you to destroy the torture chamber."


	20. Matters of the Heart

**Chapter Twenty - Matters of the Heart**

Erik stared at her, unable to believe what he had heard. "Y-You want me to do _what_?!"

"Erik, please, listen to me," she pleaded. "I just-"

"That room is a creation of mine!" he growled. "It's also a line of defense if we get unwanted visitors!"

"But Erik, we don't need that!" she insisted. "No one's gone looking for you-"

"Yet!" he intercepted.

"Erik, it's true that the room is very…creative," she grimaced. "You _know_ I think you're incredible, but that room is destructive. What if a child gets in there?"

"_How_ would a _child_ get in there?!" he asked, exasperated, when he saw her face turn pink. He blinked, confused, when a sudden thought struck his mind…

_He was composing at the organ, scribbling away, with the smell of fresh bread and supper on the stove. He could hear giggling in the background when a small hand touched his side. "Papa?" a little boy's voice drifted into his ears, causing him to turn and face the child. He was normal – a perfectly normal boy, with a beautiful little face. He smiled at the child, reaching out to touch him…_

"Erik?" Angelique's voice snapped him back into reality, causing him to shake his head.

"…children?" he choked, making her blush even more.

"I…I mean, that is-" she stammered.

"It truly displeases you, the room?" he asked, the image of Angelique at his side with a child in their arms distracting him. _"Could it be possible…?"_

"Yes, Erik. I just think you could put your talents to better use – you have so much to offer, you just need to put it to positive use." Grasping his hands, she pleaded, "Please Erik, try to understand-"

"Erik shall dismantle the room tomorrow," he said, startling her.

"Y-You…you mean it?" she asked, heaving a breath of relief.

He nodded, tucking a stray strand of her hair out of her face. "I promise."

She smiled, kissing his cheek. "Thank you, Erik." Slipping her hand into her apron pocket, she patted the little box inside, relieved that it was still in place.

"What's that?" he asked, noticing the little bulge in her pocket.

"I'll give it to you when we get home," she answered coyly.

He raised an eyebrow at her, curiosity gnawing at his brain as he eyed her apron. "A surprise?"

"Yes," she smirked. "Not until we get back." He pouted at her, earning a laugh from Angelique. "Come now, Erik, it won't be long."

"No, it won't," he said, also smirking. "Driver – back to the opera!"

"What? No fair!" she exclaimed, now pouting at Erik.

He laughed, wrapping his arm around her as he kissed the top of her head. He felt her rest against him, his heart speeding up especially as he remembered the vision of them together…as a family._"It's too soon,"_ he frowned, holding his tongue. _"Perhaps in the future…perhaps…"_

The carriage came to a steady halt at last, signaling their arrival at the front doors of the opera. Assisting Angelique out, Erik paid the man and led his beloved towards the back entrance. His eyes scanned the perimeter as they entered, his sights set upon her workroom door. "It looks clear, Erik," Angelique whispered as he started to open the door for her.

"Miss Archambault, is that you-?" Lord Adelshire's voice called out to her.

"Run!" she said, gasping as he took her in his arms and swept her off of her feet, slipping into the room and opening the trapdoor within seconds. Stepping inside, he quickly shut the door to the passageway and held his breath, listening for any sounds in the workroom.

"_Mademoiselle_?" Adelshire called out as he entered the room.

"_Merde_!" Erik hissed.

"I'm so sorry!" she whispered.

"Erik was not alert enough," he shook his head.

"…hmph. She vanished…almost as if that man with her was a…ghost?" Adelshire chuckled from the other side, exiting the room at last. "The seamstress and the Opera Ghost…intriguing."

Erik growled at the man, silenced by a kiss from Angelique. "Erik, never mind him," she said, resting her head against his shoulder. "Let's go upstairs…after you set me down."

"Who said I would?" he grinned, earning a squeak of excitement from her as he took off through the darkness. Climbing several flights and stalking down darkened hallways, he held Angelique close to his chest until they stepped out into the cool evening air.

"Erik, just what is-? Oh!" she gasped, seeing a blanket and basket set under the grand bronze statue of Apollo. "Erik, is this-?"

"Supper," he said as he set her on the floor and offered her his arm. "Are you pleased?"

"Pleased _and_ surprised," she giggled, linking her arm with his. The two walked together across the roof, taking their seats as they gazed up at the twinkling stars above. "Thank you, Erik…this is so sweet of you. What's the occasion?"

"You," he said, placing their meal on a set of dishes. "You're all the excuse Erik needs for a moment like this."

"Erik, you're spoiling me again, aren't you?" she blushed yet again. "Oh! The gift!"

His head swerved over to her, his eyes glued to her hands. "A gift? For Erik? Angelique-" he started, delight and bashfulness dancing hand in hand within his chest.

"After everything you've done for me, it's the very least I could do," she said, offering him the box. "I hope you like it."

"I already do," he smiled, accepting the gift and kissing her hand before ripping the paper off and opening the box. His eyes widened as he gawked at the cufflinks within. They glinted in the moonlight, pure silver, the buttons engraved with a fanciful, elegant design of a blooming rose on them. "A-Angelique," he coughed, his hands shaking. "These…these are…but how-?"

"I had money saved from my work with the costumes from the managers," she told him, tugging at her hair anxiously as he continued to gawk. "I saw them and thought of you when I went into town…I couldn't resist."

"You didn't have to spend your money on Erik-" he said, choking on his words when he felt her lips brush against his cheek.

"I wish I could have gotten you more," she said softly, caressing his face with her fingertips. "Do you like them?"

Plucking them from their holds, he clenched them in his hand and pressed them to his heart, fiercely hugging her. "I shall treasure them…always."

**~OG~**

"So, what's his name?" Becca grinned, waggling her eyebrows at Angelique as she sewed the hem of her new costume.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, raising her head to look at her friend.

"Your beau, _cherie_! It's so obvious you have one, you're positively glowing!" Becca beamed. Since she had arrived nearly three days ago, she noticed that the seamstress was rather secretive and happened to disappear and reappear at will, oftentimes with a shadow hovering around her.

Angelique blushed, her hand reaching for her cheek as if to conceal her obvious embarrassment at making her emotions so openly known. "…Erik, his name is Erik. But I beg of you, don't tell anyone," she pleaded. "It's a sort of secret."

"Of course," giggled Becca, releasing a sigh of admiration. "Ah, to be young and in love," she shook her head with a smile of reminiscence. "I'm so happy for you, Angie-"

"Madame Anderson!" the choir master, Gabriel, shouted from the passage. "Ready when you are!"

"I'll be there shortly," she called back, letting Angelique finish her work. "Oh, Angie! I just adore your work! And you do it so perfectly, so quickly," she commented. "We're blessed to have you."

"We're blessed to have _you_, you mean," grinned Angelique. "The last _prima donna_ we had, La Carlotta, was rather unpleasant. I didn't speak with her much and barely saw her, but when I did, she wasn't exactly the best lady to be seen with."

"So I've heard," laughed Becca. "Well, she's gone now, and I'm very happy to be here."

"Madame?!" Gabriel called once again, sounding anxious to start.

"I'm coming!" she shouted, casting Angelique an apologetic look. "Duty calls." She hurried out the door, only to crash into the tall figure of the Persian, who blinked in surprise as she collided with him. "Oh, dear!" she gasped, a nervous laugh escaping her. "I'm so terribly sorry, _monsieur_. I should have been-"

"No, _madame_, I should apologize," he said, bowing to her politely. "I have the habit of materializing when people least expect it."

She giggled at this, giving him a radiant smile when she heard her name called once more. "Do excuse me," she said, curtsying to him before she ran away, her skirts swishing around her.

The Persian watched her depart, his eyes trailing on her shrinking figure, until someone cleared their throat to earn his attention.

"You have a nasty habit of appearing near my workroom whenever Becca drops by," smirked Angelique, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe, one eyebrow raised at him accusingly.

"Coincidences," he huffed, mimicking the young woman as he crossed his arms over his chest also, freezing as he heard a chuckle swirl in the air around them.

"I think not, Daroga," Erik's voice teased him, sounding playful and menacing all at once. "How interesting that you should be so interested in this singer."

"I am not!" he snapped, glaring at the walls before turning and walking away.

Angelique giggled, shaking her head at him. "Poor Daroga." Glancing around, she smiled and whispered, "Erik, if you can hear me, I have a few moments before I have to get back to work. Won't you come and visit m-EEP!" An arm snacked around her waist and tugged her into the room, the door shutting after them. "Erik!" she scolded him, though she couldn't stop smiling. "You scared me!"

"Erik is sorry," he smiled, not sounding the least bit sorry. "But he wished to visit you."

"Good," she answered, tugging on his cravat so that he lowered his head. "Now let me show you how much I've missed you."

**~OG~**

_Five Days Later…_

Adelshire checked his pocket watch a third time that evening, toying with the chain as he finally decided to leave the managers' office and head for Box Five. He was rather anxious to meet the Opera Ghost in person, especially after speaking with Madame Giry.

"He's a genius and a gentleman, _monsieur_," she had reassured him the other day. "Treat him courteously and he shall be most generous with you."

He had had a few brief conversations with the voice of the ghost throughout the past few days, but they were restricted to elements of the performance. Therefore, he was most excited to see the man in person and get to know him. He was also extremely curious as to why he had received a letter stating not to be surprised that Angelique Archambault would be joining them. He recalled the night he was wondering the opera and saw her enter with a shadow only to disappear in the blink of an eye. _"Could it be…?"_

Arriving at the door, he held his breath as he reached out and lightly knocked on the door.

"Come in," the familiar voice of the Opera Ghost answered.

Holding his head high, he turned the knob and entered, his eyes falling upon two figures at the seats. Shutting the door behind him, he squinted, gasping as he realized who the first was. "_Mademoiselle_?"

Angelique stood close to one of the chairs, looking beautifully regal in her robin's egg blue gown, her skirts billowing out around her while her shoulders and neck remained exposed, her sleeves flowing down to cover her arms until they arrived at her wrists. A curly strand of her auburn hair rested upon her collarbone beside her locket, the rest of her hair placed into an elegant chignon bun. She smiled politely at him, curtsying as she said, "_Bonsoir_, Lord Adelshire. We're delighted you could make it."

The old man's eyes traveled down to the second figure, cloaked in darkness as he sat facing the stage, his back towards the Englishman. Slowly, the second figure arose and turned to face him. He was dressed in a fine, tailored suit, the red cravat around his neck the only unique color that stood out from his black ensemble. His dark hair was slicked back while his face – with the exception of the grotesque lips, chin, and startling golden eyes – was protected with a pristine white mask. The man languidly adjusted the cuff of his coat, a set of handsome silver cufflinks glinting in the low light of the lamps in Box Five. Tugging on both of his gloves, as if to make certain they were properly in place, the strange, alluring man walked around and made his way towards Adelshire, stalking forth like a panther on the prowl. Cautiously, he extended his arm, offering his hand to the gentleman.

"Lord Adelshire," the man spoke, the voice with which Adelshire had become so familiar with rolling off this stranger's tongue. "I am Erik Chevalier…the Opera Ghost."

Adelshire stared at him a moment, stunned by the figure. However, he quickly snapped out of his stupor and shook hands heartily with the man, a smile growing on his face. "It is an honor to meet at last, monsieur. Shall we sit down? The show is about to start."

Erik nodded, motioning for him to move first. Adelshire did so, sitting down to the far left while Erik took his place in between the man and Angelique. He gripped her hand, feeling her squeeze him in encouragement and cast him a supportive smile before he turned to face the older gentleman. "I'm certain you have many questions."

"I _am_ rather curious," he admitted. "I can see why you insist on being just a voice and even in person you hide your face with a mask. I shan't pry, it's none of my business," he waved it off, causing Erik to unconsciously release a breath of relief. "Still…why did you agree to see me in person now?"

"If we are to become partners, we should be able to sit down at a show and discuss what can be improved and what has been done correctly. You are a man who is more familiar with prospects and clients, while I am more intoned with the elements as to what makes the arts so desirable…you said you yourself," Erik commented. "I'm certain you've heard rumors about me, and of events that have transpired before you arrived."

"Murders, disappearances, incidents – oh yes, I've heard them all," Adelshire nodded. "However, lately there don't seem to be as many…almost as if the ghost has been soothed by some unnamed force…" He cast a wink at Angelique, who blushed and cast her eyes towards the stage quickly. "How did you manage to earn this young lady's love, my friend?"

"I'm still uncertain of that," Erik answered honestly, feeling his heart flutter as she looked back at him and smiled. "And yet, here she is…"

"He's changed, Lord Adelshire, I can swear to it," she spoke up at last, her eyes sparkling with joy. "He's really quite the genius, and he's kindhearted under all the orders and occasional threats." She sent him a look, to which he smirked, his only response being a kiss on her bare hand. "This partnership would be beneficial to you both."

He nodded, hearing the orchestra in the pit below tuning their instruments, signaling the start of the show. "Well…let us see what this bodes for us, shall we?"

For the next three hours, the two men murmured back and forth little comments on details they caught, whether positive or negative. They were, however, pleased that the enraptured audience applauded each time a song was done, especially by the new _prima donna_ on her debut in Paris. Erik constantly glanced over at Angelique, smiling as he watched her face light up, taking in every moment the show had to offer. Wrapping his arm around her, he relished the feel of her body pressed to his side, unashamed to how he felt for her before the Englishman. At one point in the show, Adelshire and Angelique glanced at Erik, curious.

"Erik, what happened to La Sorelli?" Angelique whispered as she saw little Meg Giry take place of the lead dancer that night.

"She injured herself in practice this morning and was unable to perform, so I made the arrangement that little Giry should be her understudy. She's maturing into quite the young lady," he stated coolly, watching the ballerina take charge.

"Upon my word! She's lovely!" Adelshire laughed, nodding as he watched her prance and dip about on stage. "Brilliant job, _monsieur_!"

"_Merci_," Erik answered quietly, unused to all the positive attention. Silently, he motioned for Angelique to look across the way at another private box. She did so, her eyes falling upon the form of Philippe de Chagny, the Persian, and another gentleman with whom she was unfamiliar with. When she looked back to her beloved, she raised an eyebrow, confused. "Baron Henri de Castelot-Barbezac," he whispered to her. She looked back at the young man, clearly somewhere in his early twenties with dark chestnut hair and firm, strong stature, his brown eyes following the form of delicate Meg. He appeared to be infatuated with her, never letting the smile fade from his face.

Instantly, it clicked in her mind as she realized what was happening. Erik had promised Madame Giry that Meg would become an "empress", and with a man like the Baron interested in her, it could mean a future with him as his spouse. _"So_ that's _why I had to make those adjustments in the costume before I could get changed this evening!"_ Smiling wryly at him, she whispered, "I just hope Meg doesn't mind this little arrangement you've made."

"Something tells Erik that things will work out nicely," he answered, kissing her cheek lightly. "Trust Erik, dearest – he shan't harm anyone, especially not with matters of the heart."

She shook her head at him, wanting to laugh at his cleverness when he eyes returned to Philippe's box. She took note of the Persian – _"Nadir,"_ she reminded herself with a grin – and followed his line of sight the moment Becca came back on stage. He, too, took in every movement, and even smiled as he watched her perform the role of Juliette. "Well played, Erik," she whispered, winking at him once she earned his attention. "Well played."

The performance went on flawlessly until the very end. There was not a single dry eye in the house as Romeo and Juliette lay side by side, dead and together at last. A thunderous applause filled the opera house as everyone rose to their feet, cheering and throwing flowers to the performers as they all stepped out to congratulate the cast.

"Erik, this was beautiful," Angelique sniffled, dabbing at her eyes as she smiled down on her friends.

"Indeed," Adelshire coughed, struggling to maintain his composure. "I can't seem to recall the last time I was so…moved. Well done, Monsieur Chevalier."

"Thank you, Lord Adelshire-"

"Rupert," grinned the man, offering his hand.

Erik's lips slowly stretched into a small smile as he shook the man's hand. "Erik."

Looking back down at the stage, Adelshire added, "I have a rather strong feeling that my dear friends Richard and Moncharmin will want to speak with me soon about their eminent retirement. So, Erik, do you have any ideas as to what our next show will be?"

Erik caught a look from Angelique as he inhaled deeply, mustering his courage. "…I should like to show you something when you are not occupied…it's a newer piece of opera that hasn't been discovered yet."

"Excellent," Adelshire beamed. "How exciting this all is! I'm looking forward to a long partnership with you, Erik."

"…as am I, Rupert."

**~OG~**

"I can't believe it – we did it!" screamed Becca in delight, hopping up and down in her dressing room – previously Christine's – as she held hands with Angelique and Meg Giry, all of them giggling and smiling like schoolgirls.

"I was so terrified when they told me what happened to Sorelli, I thought I wasn't going to make it!" Meg confessed, earning a hug from Angelique.

"But you did! I'm so proud of you, Meg!" the seamstress gushed, causing the ballerina to blush.

Both women had received bountiful amounts of flowers that night, offering Angelique some to take home, to which she instantly refused, saying that they should keep their treasures and relish their victory. The three gathered now in Christine Daae's old dressing room, now furnished for Becca's liking, surrounded by flowers as they hid away from the hordes that demanded to see the two stars. A knock at the door startled all three of them sending them into another fit of giggles.

"I'll shoo them away," Angelique promised, hurrying towards the door. As she opened it, however, she came face to face with three gentlemen, two of which she was very familiar with. "Daroga? Philippe?" she asked, gaping at them.

"May we come in?" Philippe asked, glancing back at the crowds nearby.

"Oh, well…I suppose so." She ushered them in before locking the door once again, noticing how the Persian and Baron both held gifts in their hands.

"Madame Anderson," the Daroga bowed to her politely.

"Call me Becca, everyone else does," she smiled brightly at him, startled as he offered her a small box with a little pastel yellow bow on the corner. "What's this?"

"I understand you enjoy caramels," was all he said to her as she opened the box, gaping at the sweets placed within.

"Oh…thank you!" she said, her smile growing by the second.

"Congratulations," he said, taking her hand and kissing it.

Angelique bit her lip as so not to laugh as Becca became cherry red. Turning her attention away, she saw the young Baron approach little Meg, bowing to her and kissing her hand before introducing himself.

"_Mademoiselle_, I am Henri, Baron de Castelot-Barbezac," he said to her, offering her a large bouquet of lavish roses. His eyes shone as he confessed, "Forgive me if I am too forward, _mademoiselle_, but you were truly exquisite on the stage tonight. I have seen you before with the _corps de ballet_, but tonight…tonight you shone as bright as any star in the sky."

"You flatter me too much," she stammered, blushing as she accepted the compliments and flowers. "I cannot thank you enough."

Smiling at the scene, Angelique turned to leave when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking back, she saw Philippe, his eyes staring at her longingly. "_Monsieur le Comte-_?"

"I had hoped you might at least continue to call me Philippe," he said, letting his hand slide off her shoulder.

"Hello, Philippe," she tried again, giving him a small smile. "How are you? I haven't seen you around the opera as often as before."

"I've been occupied," he answered lightly.

"How's Sorelli?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Last I checked, furious," he chuckled. "She didn't like that little misstep she took during practice, but she won't be able to dance for another few days. I believe she sprained her ankle."

"Ugh," she grimaced. "Please give her my best wishes. I don't suppose you heard from Raoul or Christine, have you?"

"They're safe, that's all I'm at liberty to say," he told her apologetically. "They're together and happy."

"Good," she nodded. Biting her lip, she waited a moment before she dared to ask, "…have you…have you heard from my uncle?"

He shook his head. "Nothing as of late. Should there be any word, I'll personally deliver it to the opera."

"Thank you," she said, touching his hand in a gesture of gratitude.

He stiffened for a moment, looking away as he bit his tongue. "…I take it you're still with _him_."

"Yes, I'm with Erik," she nodded, placing her hands upon her hips. "We love each other very much, Philippe. We're courting."

"I hope you can forgive me for asking this, but…has he…I mean, do you two…?" he started to asked, regretting it the instant her eyes narrowed at him.

"_No_, we have _not_. Erik is a gentleman, believe it or not, and he would never dream to do such a thing." _"With the way he still reacts to touch and kisses sometimes, I don't know if he's quite ready for anything like_that_."_

"I'm so sorry, Angelique, please forgive me," he begged of her.

She sighed, shaking her head. "Never mind, Philippe. I'm sorry, but I do have to go. Please excuse me. Good night."

He watched her leave, frustration and longing intertwined within him. He sighed, before also leaving. She had made her choice, and he would not force her to change just for his sake. Placing his top hat upon his head, he walked through the masses and abandoned the two couples in the dressing room.

Angelique, hidden away in a corridor of the opera, watched the Comte leave, shaking her head as she pushed on through the darkness until she sensed another presence.

"Do you ever regret this?" Erik asked, his fingers touching her shoulder as light as a butterfly. "Do you ever regret…me?"

Her heart ached as she heard his mournful voice. Spinning around, she lunged for him, claiming his mouth as her own. "Never, my love," she murmured before kissing him again.

Gathering her in his arms, he carried her off to his world behind the trapdoors.


	21. The New Manager

**Chapter Twenty-One - The New Manager**

"You found someone already?!" Richard stammered, offended that Adelshire had gotten to work so quickly.

"I did," nodded the Englishman calmly, sipping his morning tea as he sat down and enjoyed breakfast with Richard and Moncharmin at the latter's home. "His name is Erik Chevalier, he's perfect for the job."

"That's a relief," Moncharmin noted, chewing pensively on his toast. "…then I suppose we can start thinking about making announcements once the arrangements are made."

"Of course," Adelshire agreed. "What would be a decent time for you?"

"Oh, let's say…in a month?" Moncharmin suggested. "Enough time to get paperwork done and not look extremely suspicious in the public's eye, and we should have a decent amount of time to start looking for a place in Vienna to relax."

Richard nodded, already drooling at the mouth as he imagined himself far away from this crazy opera house. He pitied the poor soul who would be manager, knowing he would have to deal with that blasted Opera Ghost…

**~OG~**

"He asked you to join him, didn't he?" giggled Becca. "What did you say?!"

"How could I refuse?" Meg blushed as she twirled a strand of her dark hair around her forefinger. "I said 'yes', and he promised to pick me up tonight for supper."

"That's wonderful news, Meg!" Angelique grinned, enjoying a cup of tea with the girls in Becca's dressing room. She was delighted to have found out that the young Baron had taken quite a shine to Meg, and Madame Giry was already boastfully telling the whole opera house of her success. Erik had already received an hour-long "thank-you" speech from the woman, making him want to slip out of his hiding place and strangle her with his Punjab lasso. "One would think it was _she_ who caught the Baron's attention," he growled as he dropped her off at her workroom that morning. She shook her head, giggling at the memory of his flustered, uncomfortable expression. He was still so very unaccustomed to gratitude…

"What about you, Becca? I can't believe the Persian actually brought you something!" Meg commented, snapping Angelique out of her thoughts.

"Nadir is really very sweet," she beamed. "I never expected anything from him, and here he was, bringing me caramels! At the very least, I do hope this is the start of a beautiful friendship. Now, Angie, what about you and your beau? Did he come to the performance last night?" she asked, her brilliant green eyes on the form of the silent seamstress.

"He did – he was so impressed by both your performances," she answered, winking at Meg who paled and blushed all at once. "He's actually-"

"The new manager of the _Palais Garnier_," Adelshire said as he popped his head into the room. "Knock knock, ladies! So sorry to cut in like this, however-"

"Wait, your darling Erik is the new manager?!" Becca squealed in delight, grabbing Angelique's hands. "Why didn't you say anything?!"

"It was…a surprise?" she said, her smile looking more like a grimace as she cast Adelshire a pouting look of irritation.

"Really?" Meg gasped, stunned to hear the news. If her mother ever made the connection that the Ghost and new manager were one in the same, who knew how she would react?

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop or interrupt, but I do need you, Miss Archambault. There's a new shipment of cloth coming in and I simply wanted to make sure it is correct and to your liking."

She raised an eyebrow at him, knowing that she had not placed an order in any time lately when he gave her a playful wink and casually traced his finger over the lower half of his face, as if to draw a mask on his skin. She quickly made the connection, rising and excusing herself from the girls before following him out. "Really, _monsieur,_ what's all this about?" she asked, accepting his arm as he offered it to her.

"Erik is getting ready to sign the contracts and he wanted you to be there – is that a problem?" he grinned impishly, seeing her face light up.

"Oh…oh my!" she gasped, her stomach flopping about in her stomach as her heart soared. "That's-that's wonderful! But, so soon-?"

"Armand and Firmin are quite anxious to get out and move to Vienna for their retirement, so who am I to hold them back? Besides, I'm very excited to get this partnership going," he answered cheerfully, unlocking the door and ushering her inside. "It's all right, Erik, it's just me and your lovely lady."

Erik's head popped out from behind the desk where he had hidden upon their arrival, his eyes lighting up as he saw Angelique. "_Mon ange!_"

"Erik!" she gasped as he picked her up and spun her around, giggling as he kissed her. "You saw me not half an hour ago!"

"Erik is aware of that," he nodded, somewhat distracted and anxious. "However, this is all so…sudden, and Erik is unaccustomed to such things, and thought that perhaps-"

"Thank you for having me here," she whispered, embracing him tightly. "It means so much to me that you want me here while you make it all official."

Adelshire chuckled merrily as he withdrew a plume from the desk and stood close by, watching the two of them. "Ah, _l'amour_," he grinned, earning their attention. "I hate to cut in, but shall we?"

Erik squeezed her hand before stepping forward, his fingers trembling as he accepted the feathered quill from the elder. He had already read through the paperwork in the past few minutes, and had taken a gander at it years ago when the opera first opened, but now with the prospect of actually officially running the place…his name would be known, he'd have to make public appearances every so often…of course, he had the means to do so, that wasn't a problem at all…however, he could scarcely wrap his mind around the idea, the whole situation being somewhat overwhelming.

Gripping the quill, he bent over the paper and took a deep breath. Thoughts and hopes of a happy, normal future for him and, God willing, Angelique filled his mind, urging him to take his time and sign his name fancifully on the paper. He would have very much liked to have scribbled his name away as he normally did, but this was a precious, terrifying, unique moment…he wanted to make it count. At long last, he finished and set the feather down, handing the parchment over to the owner and waiting for him to finish looking at the signature. He was still waiting for the man to turn on him, to glower and point, to call the police in and have something drastic happen to shatter this happy moment…

Adelshire beamed, offering his hand to Erik. "Congratulations, my friend. Thank you."

Erik gasped for air, surprised that he had been holding his breath for so long. He shook Adelshire's hand, freezing as the man gave him a hug, patting him on the back. His words of encouragement and reassurance were lost on Erik, his min whirling from the shock of accepting that this was the truth – he was the true manager of the _Palais Garnier_, and all would answer to him, Opera Ghost or no. He didn't snap out of his stupor until Angelique kissed him tenderly, feeling his own tears run down his masked face. "Don't wake me," he mumbled. "There are so many wonderful things happening…they're happening to me…Erik must be dreaming-"

"No, no you're not, Erik," she said, smiling beautifully at him. "It's all real. You're story's changing…now _you_ have to make the most of it."

**~OG~**

La Sorelli tested her ankle on the floor of her private room, hissing as pain shot through her leg. With a frustrated sigh, she threw her ballet shoes across the room, covering her face with her hands as she wept. She was doomed…

"_Mademoiselle_?" she heard Angelique call out as she knocked on the door of her dressing room. "I have your dress fitted-"

"Go away!" she cried.

The door creaked open, signaling the seamstress's entrance into her room. She desperately wished she had something at hand to throw at the girl – alas, she could find nothing. "I said to leave me alone!" she blubbered.

"I just…I wanted to drop the dress off," she heard Angelique answer quietly. "…what's wrong? Can I help you in any way?"

"Help me vanish and I should be most grateful," she snapped. "My life is over – little Meg will most likely be named the new head dancer under this new manager, and Philippe is infatuated with _you_, no matter what I do!" She sobbed into her hands, shaking her head. "Just leave me alone!"

All was silent for several moments as she continued to cry, hoping that the girl had gone. At the touch of a hand on her shoulder, her head jerked up to see Angelique by her side, gazing down at her sympathetically. "Sorelli…I _am_ sorry, truly." She scoffed at her, turning her face away. "But I can assure you that the new manager will not send you away, and I have no interest whatsoever in Philippe-"

"But _he's_ interested in you," she frowned, refusing to face her. "I know it. He always looks in your direction when you're near and makes small comments about you-"

"Then why not find someone who _does_ appreciate you?" she suggested, raising an eyebrow. "He's an admirable and wonderful man, but if he's not going to pay you any mind, then he isn't worth your time."

Sorelli faced her, stunned by her advice. "B-But…I have nothing, no one to turn to. If I leave Philippe-"

"You _won't_ be alone. You have the ballet girls-"

"Infants," she rolled her eyes.

"Your adoring fans-"

"They can turn on me in the blink of an eye," she grumbled.

"Your friends-"

"I have none."

"Yes, you do. That is, if you want them."

She raised her head once more, startled by the fierceness in her voice. "W-What-?"

"I don't know if it's just that Philippe had an attraction to me or if there are other attributes about me that bother you, but I never wanted to be your enemy, Sorelli. For the past few years, I had to suffer under a cruel stepfamily, and then I came here and I found so much happiness…I'd like to be able to share it with you, too." Taking the dancer's hands in her own, she gave them a gentle, reassuring squeeze and smiled. "I'd like to be friends with you. I know that Becca and Meg admire your skills, and I think you're incredible. Can't we start over, Sorelli?"

She looked into the girl's stormy-hued eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity and kindness, guilt poking at her conscience. "…I'm sorry…I suppose I got jealous and…well, there were times when I didn't speak or think kindly of you…why are you doing this anyways?"

"I don't like to leave things unresolved, especially when I can fix them," she answered.

"…I'd like to start over," she said quietly, blushing as Angelique embraced her. "…thank you."

"No, thank _you_, for giving me a chance," she beamed. Tucking her hair out of her eyes, she got up and suggested, "Why don't I bring you the dress and help you put it on? I can make the adjustments right here."

"I can't get up," Sorelli warned her.

"That's all right, we'll manage," she grinned, earning a laugh from the dancer.

Manage they did, spending the next hour fitting and sewing the gown, giggling and whispering, talking and sharing their hopes and fears, getting to know one another, until there was a knock on the door.

"It's open," Sorelli called out, her eyes widening at the sight of Philippe de Chagny. "…Phi-lippe? What are you-?"

"I'm sorry," he said, seeing the two girls together. His hands were behind his back, causing the girls to peer at him curiously. "I didn't realize you were busy-"

"I was just finishing," Angelique said, rising to her feet and gathering the dress in her arms. "I just wanted to put this away…" Excusing herself, she walked to the bureau and placed the dress back on the hanger when she heard Philippe say to Sorelli, "May we speak?"

"About what?" she asked calmly, letting her hair fall loose from her bun.

"About us…in private," he added quickly, showing her what was hidden behind his back.

She gasped as a bouquet of flowers came into view, her heart aching in her breast. "Philippe?!"

"In a moment," he promised, his smile fading as he handed her the flowers and left to face Angelique. "Angelique…I just received this in the mail…I came as soon as I could."

Her brows furrowed as she took the envelope in his hands, tugging the letter out of the torn coverlet. "What's this…?"

"_Monsieur le Comte de Changy,_

_Please be sure to bring this letter to Mademoiselle Angelique Archambault:_

_Dearest Angelique,_

_We are writing you this letter because your uncle, Pierre Archambault, has recently passed away. The funeral will be held within three days time, and we hope you can make it there. He thought often of you once he found out of your being in Paris, and has left a note here for you that he made known should only be touched by your hands. We hope that you will come, as we are also anxious to meet you._

_Our deepest condolences and affections,_

_M. et Mdm. Joubert."_

Angelique felt her body shake as she read the words, her eyes stinging as tears slide down her face. An invisible knife stabbed her through the heart as she reread the short letter, a part of her feeling as thought it was dying.

"Angelique-?!" Sorelli asked, her eyes widening as she watched the girl go running out without another word. "Angelique, wait-!"

"Best leave her," Philippe shook his head. "She's gone to seek comfort."

"Where?" the dancer asked, utterly confused.

"Her beau," he answered simply.

"Will she be-?"

"I certainly hope so," he said, kneeling before her as he heaved a sigh. "Sorelli…I just wanted to…to apologize."

"Apologize?" she blinked.

"I've been so blatantly rude and uncaring, and it's obvious that I keep turning my eye to Angelique."

"Obviously," she rolled her eyes as she cheekily answered him, her old self returning. "Even a blind man could see that."

He chuckled before becoming somber once more. "I haven't been fair to you…Angelique is happy with her beloved, and you've always been there for me…I only wanted to make it up to you. I got to thinking since last night's performance…I missed seeing you onstage, and I missed your company these past few days…all I ask if your forgiveness. I understand if you never wish to see me again-"

"Philippe, you're so overly dramatic," she scoffed, only to smile at him seconds later, tears forming in her eyes. "Oh, Philippe, I thought I'd lost you!"

"No…no, you haven't. I lost myself for a bit, but I shall never abandon you, not like this, not ever again," he vowed, embracing her tightly. "Forgive me?"

"Yes…but only if you kiss me. You need to be able to prove you're sorry," she smirked.

He chuckled, leaning in and tickling her with his moustache. "I wouldn't have it any other way…"

**~OG~**

Angelique ran blindly through the darkened halls and passages, her tears blurring her vision as she hurried home. Sneaking through the hidden tunnel, she arrived at Erik's underground house in record time, her lungs ready to burst from running and crying. Frantically, she tugged and turned at the handle, yanking it open and slamming it as she ran inside.

"Angelique? Is that you, dearest?" Erik's voice floated from his room. He stepped out moments later, adjusting his mask over his face. "What on earth is-? _Oof_!" He nearly fell over from the collision as Angelique attacked him, burying her face into his chest as she wept. Instantly, he panicked, grabbing her shoulders and struggling to pull her back to get a good look at her. "Angelique, what's happened-?!"

"Dead," she sobbed, falling to her knees. "He's dead…I never ever got to see him once…I should have gone…oh, Erik!" she sobbed, crushing the letter in her grasp.

Kneeling before her, he managed to tug the paper from her hands and read through it, his heart sinking as he realized who she was talking about. "…My dear Angel…I am so sorry…" He wrapped his arms around her, letting her cling to him as she continued to cry, mourning the loss of the only relative she had left on this earth. He stroked her hair and hummed to her, gathering her in his arms and taking her to her room, setting her down slowly upon the bed, all the while still holding her to his chest. He said nothing, knowing that there was nothing he could say to better the situation…all he knew was that she needed someone, and he would be there for her as long as she needed.

After a time, he felt her nod off, resting in his arms. Certain that she would be deep in sleep, he began to lay her down when she jolted awake and grabbed him, making him yelp in surprise. "_Mon ange_, are you all right?!"

"Erik…Erik, I'm so sorry, I was just…" She stopped herself, taking a deep breath before looking him in the eyes, her face stained with hot tears, her eyes red from crying. "…I have to go, Erik. At least just for the funeral-!"

"You must leave at once," he nodded, setting her down again. "Erik shall make the arrangements-"

"Will you come?" she whispered, new tears spilling forth.

"M-Me? But, I-" he stammered, imagining a fiasco the moment he stepped out into the open country air.

"Please, Erik? At least come with me to his house…you don't have to go to the funeral, I know it's uncomfortable for you…" Her voice cracked several times as she fought the urge to cry, tugging at his heartstrings.

Erik sighed as he shook his head. _"Erik is becoming much too soft…"_ "Of course Erik will go with you, even to the funeral, one way or another." She tried to smile but instead started to cry even more, grasping at his hand as he softly caressed her cheek. "Shall Erik give you a moment alone-?"

"Stay," she begged, making his heart pound faster despite his best efforts.

"Very well, dearest. Erik shall get a chair-"

"No," she shook her head. "Here, on the bed…lie down with me?"

"Eh?!" he gaped at her, his face going bright red.

She appeared to have read his thoughts, her own face turning as red as an apple. "No! Not like that, Erik, just…lie down next to me. I just…I need to hold on to you…nothing like _that_."

"O-Of course n-not," he shook his head, his blood racing within his veins. He obliged, however, lying beside her and allowing her to snuggle against him, her face buried in his chest. He stiffened a bit, realizing too late that after he had come home, he had undressed into a half-way buttoned shirt, slacks, and his slippers, his torso covered with his silk robe. _"_Mon Dieu, _she'll be the death of me,"_ he thought, half-exasperated, half-intoxicated by the feel of her nose and lips occasionally brushing against his bare chest, her body pressed against his as she continued to cry in an effort to calm down. Eager to distract himself, he continued to play with her hair, singing to her all the while soft serenades of some of the best operas, until he felt her slowly drift off, her warm breath tickling his chest. Resting his head upon hers, he felt himself becoming quite comfortable with his current position, slowly drifting off to join Angelique in slumber land.


	22. Funerals, Fortunes, and Futures

**Chapter Twenty-Two - Funerals, Fortunes, and Futures**

"We're here," Erik announced, peeping out from behind the curtains of the darkened carriage they rode. He squeezed Angelique's hand to reassure her – as well as himself – before taking a deep breath and tugging the brim of his fedora over his face.

When Erik and Angelique had awoken the following morning, he went upstairs and made arrangements, contacting Adelshire and even leaving a note for Meg Giry, whom he was certain was already very aware of his being with Angelique, knowing that she could cover for them. He also left a note to Madame Giry with the excuse that he would not be able to visit her in Box Five as he needed time to rest. With these finished, he set off and arranged for a cab to take them to Pierre Archambault's countryside home in Rouen. He was, of course, rather hesitant to travel to Rouen, later explaining to Angelique once they were in the carriage that he had been born and raised near the town as a child, and it did not hold fond memories for him. When she protested that he not got for her sake, he merely kissed her hand. "Erik is not afraid of facing anything, so long as you are with him," he answered.

The carriage came to a jarring halt, the two of them exchanging glanced before Erik tugged up the collar of his cloak to conceal his face. Stepping out into the dying sunlight, he offered her his hand and assisted her out of the vehicle, paying the driver handsomely for getting them there in such a short amount of time. They each gathered their own suitcases and started up the path when a figure emerged from the two-story cottage.

"Mademoiselle Angelique, is that you?!" the woman called out, her facing lighting up as she ran towards them. "Oh, thank Heaven you made it!" She was in her mid-sixties, her brown hair graying at the temples, with bright hazel eyes and dimples as she smiled at them. Her apron was stained with juices and coated with different powders, and she smelled of cinnamon and clove. Opening her arms to them, she embraced Angelique fiercely while Erik lingered close by. "We're so glad you came…I'm so sorry if I'm being too forward, it's just-!"

"Please, don't apologize," she answered, returning the embrace. "I'm not like that…I haven't exactly lived in the lap of luxury for a few years now. Besides, I rather like being welcomed like this." The two women shared a tearful smile before the elder noticed Erik.

"Oh, _pardon_!" she exclaimed. "I didn't realize you were married-"

"Oh, I'm not married, not yet anyways," she blushed.

Erik felt butterflies flutter in his stomach the moment she said that sentence, hope blooming in his heart. Mustering his courage, he took the woman's hand and kissed it, bowing to her. "Madame, I am Erik Chevalier, Angelique's beau. You have my deepest condolences."

"Oh my, how charming," the woman giggled. "It's wonderful to have you both, despite the circumstances. My name is Fanette Joubert, I was Master Pierre's cook and maid. My son and husband worked for the Master as well, they're here…do come in. I must warn you, my husband is a veteran from the Paris Commune back in 1871…his face was slightly…well, deformed. There was a terrible incident, so please don't be alarmed."

Erik and Angelique exchanged glances, shrugging as they heard the news. They followed Fanette up the path into the homely cottage, setting their bags down at the door.

"Lamar? Adrien? Do come out. Our guests are here," she announced, shutting the door after the couple had entered.

A young man emerged from the kitchen, shyly entering the drawing room and bowing politely to the couple. He was only seventeen but he was rather tall for his age, nearly surpassing Erik's height. He was strong and able-handed, but he had his mother's gentle hazel eyes and a sweetness about his face that showed he was not a hulking farm brute. His midnight hair had been pulled back into a short ponytail, resting upon his shoulder.

"_Mademoiselle, Monsiuer_, this is my son Adrien. He was Master Pierre's stable boy and chauffer. Adrien, this is Mademoiselle Angelique and Monsieur Erik Chevalier, her beau," she introduced them.

He bowed his head once more towards them, his deep voice soft as he said, "How do you do?"

"Hello, Adrien," Angelique smiled. "Really, you can all just call me Angelique. There's no need for the formalities."

"Nonsense," Fanette waved it off. "You are the Master's niece, and we are to treat you with the utmost respect. Adrien, where is your father?"

"The kitchen," he sighed. "He refuses to come out."

Fanette gave them an apologetic smile. "He's rather shy about showing himself. His deformity, you know."

"I can understand his intentions," Erik answered, lowering his collar so that the mask was visible in the lamplight of the room.

Both mother and son were stunned by the sight of him but said nothing, quickly looking away. "Why don't you make yourselves comfortable?" she suggested, motioning that they sit on the plush chairs before the fire when she caught movement in the background. "Lamar! Stop hiding, dear. They're lovely people, dear," she implored, hoping to coax him out of hiding.

Slowly, he took several steps forth until he arrived, his face exposed to them. The man was nearing seventy, his hair completely white, his eyes a startling blue color. He was as tall as Erik, and while one half of his face was aging gracefully, the other had been ravaged and nearly mauled off. His flesh had been unable to heal properly, resulting in deep, dark scars, a drooping eye socket, a twisted cheek, and a permanently sliced bottom lip. He held his head high, though his eyes remained downcast as to avoid their gawking. He politely bowed to them, his deep, rasping voice saying, "Welcome…please, excuse my face-"

"There is nothing you need to apologize for," Erik cut in, firm and gentle all at once. "You suffered from an incident during the war, didn't you? There are worse things that could happen." Stepping towards him, he offered his hand. "I am Erik."

The butler gaped at him, startled by his acceptance when he finally noticed the mask. _"Perhaps…he is hiding his own deformity?"_ He shook hands with Erik, nevertheless, and looked him in the eye, a shiver passing through him as he saw two dark holes with golden lights staring back at him. There was no doubt in his mind now – this man, too, had a deformity, perhaps even worse than his. Yet here he was with his new mistress, a pretty young thing, and she seemed to be perfectly fine in his company. A small smile grew on his face as he accepted the man, hope blossoming within his bosom. "You may call me Lamar. Welcome once more."

**~OG~**

The sun was hidden behind a thick bank of clouds the following morning as a small gathering took place in a little cemetery just a mile away from the town. Having rested in their rooms after the trip, Erik and Angelique awoke that morning and joined the Joubert family for breakfast before riding out to find the preacher and other mourners for the funeral. The day was sullen, however the rain stayed at bay as the priest went on about the ritual and blessed the body of the old Comte.

The whole occasion passed in a blur for Angelique as she stood by, sticking close to Erik as he kept his arm around her, his hat and cloak concealing his mask all the while. Much to his relief, it went unnoticed, as most of the mourners did the same in preparation for the foul weather. As the coffin was lowered into the ground, Angelique threw a lone flower upon the casket, her eyes stinging as she silently said good-bye to the man she never knew.

"Angelique."

Erik's voice gently yanked her out of her miserable stupor as she looked up at him, blinking her tears away. "Yes?"

"There's someone here to see you," he said, motioning to a man about Lamar's age, who tipped his hat to her.

"My deepest condolences, _mademoiselle_," he said kindly. "I hate to approach you in such a state, however I was given explicit orders to come to you once Pierre had passed away."

"You knew him?" she asked, dapping at her eyes with her handkerchief.

"I was his accountant…I managed all his affairs," he answered. "My name is Cornelius Roscoe. The Jouberts have a letter which he instructed me to write, it is meant only for you, therefore once we return to the house, you must read it. It concerns your future, my dear."

Her brows furrowed for an instant before she turned to Erik and raised an eyebrow in confusion. "My future?"

He said nothing, already certain of what the man was talking about. "Come, Angelique. Let us see what this is all about."

Angelique remained perplexed, unsure of what to think or expect. She hadn't thought receiving anything from anyone when she arrived – she'd lost her only relative, she was there to mourn, after all. Still, she went along with the group, wondering what could be so important that she had to be the one to read the letter he had left behind.

Gathering in the study upstairs in Archambault's cottage, Lamar retrieved an envelope locked in the desk, handing it over to Angelique.

"Thank you," she nodded, her hands shaking as she took it. She wasn't sure what to expect, but it was making her nervous as everyone looked at her. Biting her lip, she took the letter opener and sliced the envelope open, tugging the letter out of its cocoon before unfolding it and reading the words aloud.

"My dearest niece…Angelique, I am so sorry we could not meet in the short time I found out about you. I was growing worse with each passing day, my illness taking over, and I did not want you to see me like this. However, I never once forgot about you. After your father and I had a spat many, many years ago, we lost contact. I always had the hope we would be able to meet face to face and resolve it, but I found out about his death and became devastated. I never realized what had happened with you until the Comte de Chagny wrote to me…so for that, I beg your forgiveness...I do hope that you will at least accept these gifts I have to offer. Being that I have no children of my own, I b-" She stopped, gasping as she saw the next set of lines, her hand covering her mouth in shock as her eyes widened. Erik placed his hand on her shoulder, giving her an encouraging squeeze. Fighting back fresh tears, she inhaled deeply and continued. "…I bequeath everything of mine to you, dearest Angelique. You now own the title of _Comtesse_, my cottage home as well as my house in Paris. My wealth and fortune is yours – you need not worry of working another day in your life…all I ask is that you keep the Jouberts in your service – they are a wonderful family, and I know you will come to love one another day by day. I wish you all the happiness this world has to offer, my dear niece, and that you may not suffer loneliness anymore. Until we meet in Heaven, my child…Your loving uncle, Pierre."

The paper fell from her hands as the sobs she had fought so long broke free. She shook her head in disbelief at the news, overwhelmed by everything that had been written. It was too much to take in all at once, but as she felt Erik wrap his arms around her, she took another breath and held her head high, gripping onto his hand.

"Oh, Miss Angelique!" Fanette smiled, walking over and taking the girl's hands into her own. "I'm so happy for you, truly. If you'll have us, we will gladly serve you, as we did for your uncle."

"Of _course_ I'll keep you," she said, embracing the woman. "This is all just…so very sudden…"

"He had hoped you would be pleased," Roscoe chuckled. "I have all the paperwork here." He withdrew a thick roll of papers from his heavy overcoat, stretching his arm towards her. She accepted, absolutely stunned by the scrolls he passed on to her. "My office is in Paris as well. Should you need anything, I do hope you'll call upon me. My card is inside as well. I must bid you all good-night, I have a cab to catch." Tipping his hat to them, he said his goodbyes and departed at once.

"Well, Mistress?" Lamar asked, bowing his head to her. "What say you? Is there anything you wish at the moment?"

"Oh, Lamar, don't tease her," Fanette playfully scolded him. "He does mean well, child. If you wish to stay or leave, it is your choice."

"Oh…well, I do have to return to Paris with Erik," she confessed. "But…oh, Erik, couldn't we stay a few days?"

"Anything you like, dearest," he nodded. "I already told Rupert about our trip and that we may not be back at the opera for a few days."

"The opera?" blinked Adrien, his eyes locked on them in fascination. "_Pardon_, but…you both work there?"

"Angelique is the finest seamstress in all of Paris," Erik beamed as he boasted, enjoying watching her blush. "I have recently been made the new manager of the Palais Garnier, but we shan't be announcing that for another three weeks."

"I see…" the boy nodded.

Fanette kissed her son's cheek lovingly before heaving a sigh. "He's fascinated by all that show business…perhaps, Mistress, Monsieur Chevalier, you would be willing to share stories with him sometime."

"Certainly," Angelique nodded as she smiled at the shy young man. "We would be happy to."

Erik nodded, his brows furrowing as he saw a familiar light in the boy's hazel eyes that he had seen in Christine's many months ago. It was that same eagerness, that passion and desire to pour their hearts into their work…curiosity wormed its way into his brain as he stared at the boy, determined to find out just what was his talent. _"Perhaps, just perhaps, Erik could assist him…"_

**~OG~**

"Erik?"

Erik's eyes opened upon hearing the soft, sweet voice of Angelique linger in his dark room. Sitting up in bed – which he was most uncomfortable in, considering he barely slept and when he did it was in a coffin – he saw her head poking into his room and motioned for her to enter.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" she asked, slipping inside and shutting the door after her.

"You know that Erik does not sleep well," he sighed, patting the bed.

She sat down and rested her head against his shoulder, allowing him to pull her close to his chest. "Maybe…but you have been sleeping much more than you did before."

"That is because my masterpiece is complete," he chuckled, loving the sensation he received as she snuggled against his chest. "And because he knows he has you now…" He chewed his bottom lip, contemplating the events of the day. "…Angelique?"

"Yes Erik?" she mumbled, quite comfortable in his arms.

"…you are a Comtesse now," he said simply. "And Erik is a mere theater manager-"

"Don't start," she frowned, pulling away so she could look him in the eye. "I don't care about what I am, and neither should you."

"Does it not bother you that Erik is not of your status now?" he prodded on, curling a strand of her hair on his long, bony finger.

"It didn't bother me before and it won't now. Mere months ago, I was a runaway servant girl, remember Monsieur Opera Ghost?" she smirked. "Erik, you have a respectable job, you're a genius in more ways any man could hope to be, and I love you. Isn't that enough?"

He nodded, smiling at her, though it slowly started to fade.

"What is it?" she asked, sensing that he was unhappy with something.

"…Erik is not as young as he used to be," he said quietly, scratching the back of his neck as he did so.

"I've seen men as old as Lord Adelshire go after girls as young as Cosette in the _corps de ballet_," she rolled her eyes. "Speaking of the topic, just how old are you?"

He looked away, clearing his throat as he strummed his fingers rhythmically upon his knee. "…Erik shall be fifty within a year's time, give or take."

"And Philippe de Chagny is in his late forties chasing after a woman who's a year older than me. I'll be twenty-one in a month, Erik, I'm old enough to decide who I want to be with for the rest of my life, aren't I?" she insisted.

He shivered, her words echoing in his mind. _"Spend the rest of his life with me, the Phantom…?"_

"Erik-?" she asked, startled as he impulsively leaned forward and claimed her mouth, kissing her hungrily. She froze for a moment before surrendering, goosebumps rising on her skin as he pulled her towards him, his fingers curling in her hair and trailing down her back. She wrapped her arms around him, her heart pounding faster than it ever had before. Just as quickly as he had kissed her, he pulled away, gasping for breath and leaving her stupefied. "…E-Er-ik…?" she swooned, still trying to shake off the rush she had dealt with.

"A-hem…Erik is…Erik is very sorry," he stammered, his own pallid face going red. "But…Angelique should not be saying such things to Erik, especially when he is holding up such high hopes and cannot control himself at times and desperately wishes for a future with you and-"

"Wait, what?" she blinked, snapping out of her state. Her eyes widened as her heart began to pound again. "Erik…Erik are you saying-?!"

"Erik has already said too much!" He was frantic now, speed-talking without realizing it, something he did when he was nervous, aside from not looking her in the eye, as well as reverting deeply back into referring to himself in third person. "Erik is too presumptuous to consider such things, especially after only spending such a short time together, and now with the misfortune of your uncle, and it would appear greedy of me to think of asking especially after your newly earned inheritance!" She said nothing, biting her lip as so not to giggle as he continued. She found him adorable, like a child who was trying to come up with an alibi for something deliciously wicked he just did. "So Erik shall _not_ ask, at least not for a while, even though it drives him to madness, and he wishes that you be his and he be yours forever-"

Her lips covered his, stunning him into silence until she pulled away, her cheeks flushed as she asked, "Erik…are you saying that…that maybe someday-"

"Stop," he said, placing his fingertips upon her lips. He took a deep breath and looked her in the eye, regaining his composure. "…Erik would like to ask you an important question, one that involves us and a future and…_other_ aspects. " He gulped, she giggled. "However, it is not time…not yet. When the right time comes…I shall ask you, Angelique, and I shall do it properly."

Her eyes glistened with fresh tears as she smiled at him. "…I'll wait, then." She pecked his cheek before embracing him, curling into him as he sighed and held her to his body. "…I'll wait all my life if I have to."

"Not that long," he promised her with a chuckle, stroking her hair soothingly. "…soon, _mon ange_…soon."


	23. Angels on Earth

**A/N: **Hi! Long time, no see! Sorry for the long wait, I've had a lot going on recently and I had the "brilliant" idea of updating old stories. However, I did just finish writing this chapter, so I hope you all enjoy it - I own nothing but OCs, the crazy plot, and any random "Don Juan" lyrics that are tossed in here. Please let me know what you think, and I'll see you all next time!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three – Angels on Earth**

"What do you think of me taking on a new pupil?" Erik asked suddenly as they stopped upon a hill, riding the two horses that Angelique had inherited.

Angelique gazed at him in awe, a smile gracing her face. "Who did you have in mind, _mon cher_?"

He allowed himself a moment to gaze at her before answering, stunned by how regal she looked in black. In an effort to show she was in mourning, she had donned one of the new dresses he had bought of her, covering her body in dark, shimmering satin and chiffon, a matching hat and veil adding a strange, seductive mystery to her glimmering eyes and beautiful smile. "Your stable boy."

"Adrien? What makes you want to tutor him? I've never heard him sing before," she asked, puzzled by his certainty. _"Then again, this _is_ Erik I'm talking to…"_

"Erik knows a passionate spirit when he sees one," he answered coolly, gazing out at the land under his beloved's possession. There were lush green acres that went on for several miles, some of them dotted with forest area. Comte Archambault had agreed to lease the land to many farmers, some of which had been there since childhood. Since his death, Angelique held possession, until she met with the accountant, Roscoe, and allowed for the farmers to gain their rights and claim to the farmland they obtained. This act of kindness only seemed to strengthen the people's love for the new Archambault successor, who was just as kind – if not kinder – than the deceased Comte. They renewed their agreement terms with her so that he would receive a small percentage of what they earned each year – with approximately fifteen different families and landowners, that added up rather nicely at the end of the year, even with such a small amount returning to her.

"I still can't believe how much has happened in such a short amount of time," she sighed, shaking her head. "It feels as if only yesterday I was scrubbing floors with Capucine watching over me, and now…I have so much more than I ever imagined or wanted."

"You deserve the world, _mon ange_," Erik insisted, taking her hand and kissing it reverently, causing her to blush. He smiled as he saw this – he loved being able to continue making her face flush such a delightful shade of rose pink, just for him.

"All I want is you, and your love, Erik," she confessed, reaching out so that she might touch his masked cheek. He remained heavily concealed whenever he left the cottage, but he was determined to venture out with her every moment possible, and for that she was most grateful.

He gripped her hand, his heart aching with joy and weariness. For so long, he had suffered alone, and now he had an angel leading him into a new world, one with hope and happiness and utter _normalcy_, which he had craved since he first saw his own face. Kissing her hand once more, he motioned for her to follow. "Come, Fanette must have dinner ready."

Together, the two rode their horses across the vast land, breathing in the cool air that drifted from the not so distant sea. The wind curled around them, tugging at their bodies as they rode against it. The horses moved swiftly towards their destination, slowing at their masters' command once they neared the stables. No sooner had they come to a stop and slipped off the magnificent animals, a cheerful whistling tune floated into the air.

"I wonder…" Angelique looked over at Erik, who simply smiled knowingly at her.

The couple guided their steeds into the building, their eyes falling upon Adrien. His back was facing them as he worked on tirelessly, preparing the stalls for their horses. Unaware of their presence, he softly began to sing an old countryside tune. His voice was clear, strong, and rich, causing Angelique to gawk and gasp. "Oh!"

At once, the boy stopped, turning around and yelping in surprise at the sight of his two new masters. "M-Monsieur Chevalier! Comtesse! I-I didn't hear you-!"

"That is evident," Erik chuckled, guiding his horse into the proper stall. Patting his steed's thick neck, he looked over at the mortified young man and said, "You have great talent, Adrien. Who is your tutor?"

The boy looked up at him, agog from the praise he had received, and shook his head. "No one, monsieur. I attended Sunday School as a child and the chorus master asked me to sing with the choir once I had gotten older. I only know hymns and folksongs, really-"

"Can you read music?" Erik interrupted.

"Well, yes-"

"How would you feel about having me as your tutor, Adrien? You have great potential, you could sing for the _Garnier_ someday, I am certain of it," he insisted.

"M-Me?" he stammered. "Me in the opera? Oh, I don't think s-"

"You can do anything you set your mind to," Angelique grinned. "Erik is teaching me how to sing as well. "He's brilliant, Adrien, and he has a marvelous voice, too!"

"Angelique, we're talking about the boy, not me," he blushed, tugging at his cravat.

"Can you sing something now?" Adrien asked, his eyes glimmering with hope. "Please, monsieur, I've always wanted to hear something from the opera!"

A slow smile stretched over Erik's lips as he heard the request, surrendering at last. "Very well…" Closing his eyes, he saw words from his recently finished composition floating across his mind. Opening his mouth, he unleashed the magic.

"_So you see, it's true– _

_I'm just as real as you._

_I'm flesh and bone,_

_I'm, oh, so alone!_

_Please, forgive me the lies I've said…_

_But now that we have met,_

_Know that I am yours,_

_Yours alone…"_

His voice twirled and leapt over their heads before diving into their souls, chilling them to the bone. There was so much emotion, so much passion and longing…his voice was soft and tender one moment, and the next thing they knew it boomed and rose above them before quieting once more. Even the horses seemed as still as statues as they listened to the music. At last, he opened his eyes and looked to his audience, not the least bit surprised to see Adrien in total awe while Angelique gazed at him with adoration. He accepted their applause with a humble bow, tipping his hat to them before chuckling and shrugging it off. "Well, Adrien, what do you say?"

"Can you teach me to sing like that, monsieur-?!"

"Erik," he corrected him. "My name is Erik, and you are to call me that when we practice."

"Yes, Erik," he nodded, an excited smile gracing his face. "I should very much like to learn!"

"Will your parents be all right with that?" Angelique asked, cocking her head as she raised an eyebrow at them.

"I shall speak with them, if you wish," Erik offered. "Surely, they cannot deny you such a small favor."

**~OG~**

"I don't see any reason why he can't practice, so long as he can complete his chores as he normally does," Lamar nodded as he and Erik sat before the fire that evening, sipping tea in the large, plush armchairs.

"Of course he can continue his chores. I shall visit Angelique's home regularly to call on her, you see, so I shall make it a point during the evening to have lessons with your son then, as so not to interfere," Erik explained, watching as the man nodded in consent.

"That would be good for him. He's rather shy, and I believe that my fault. He doesn't want to leave me alone, as I barely leave the house due to…well, you know why." He motioned to his face, shaking his head. "Adrien has always had a fascination with music that I could never quite comprehend…to be perfectly honest, I believe he admires you."

Erik doubled over and coughed, nearly spilling his tea.

"_Monsieur_!" Lamar gasped, reaching over to assist him.

"I'm fine," Erik choked, struggling to catch his breath.

"Have I offended you?" the butler asked, worry bubbling within his stomach.

"What? Goodness, no!" Erik shook his head, leaning back in his chair. He sighed as he set his cup down, lacing his fingers together and setting his chin upon his hands. He gave a wry chuckle as he confessed, "All my life, I have been an object of scorn…to hear that your son admires me is…very strange…but wonderful as well."

Lamar gave a crooked smile, his face a gruesome sight as he committed the action. "I believe I understand what you feel…I shall never ask what is under your mask, sir, for if I had one, I would never want to part with it. I know the humiliation and pain that comes with scars and defects."

Erik's eyes traveled to the man, sadness washing over him as he realized that he at least had a way to hide – this man didn't even have a single domino mask to conceal his face. His eyes widened as an idea bloomed into his mind, causing him to snap his fingers. "Of course!"

"_Monsieur_-?" Lamar asked, raising his good eyebrow.

"I shall make you a mask," Erik said suddenly, grinning from ear to ear. "However, it shall be life-like…it will appear like skin, it will move to match the other half of your face…" He stroked his chin, muttering to himself, "Erik would be wise to create one for himself…really, why didn't he think of this sooner?"

"Monsieur, please, I don't wish to impose upon you-" Lamar protested.

Erik held up his hand at this. "Nonsense. I enjoy a good challenge. It would benefit us both. Allow me to make a mask for you, Lamar. It is the very least I can do. Since my arrival with Angelique, I've never felt so…so at _home_."

Seeing the sincerity in Erik's eyes, Lamar heaved a sigh of defeat, offering his hand to him. "Very well…that is most kind of you, Monsieur Chevalier."

"_Erik_," he corrected him. "You may call me Erik."

Lamar smiled at him, a flickering flame of hope igniting within his breast. "Thank you…thank you, Erik."

**~OG~**

Two days later, the Joubert family packed their belongings and hitched the horses to the carriage, joining Angelique and Erik on their two-day return to Paris. The horses trotted along down the path as if there was not a care in the world. Gazing out the window, Erik found himself in awe of the world around him. He had spent years traveling continents only to end up hidden underneath an opera house…now here he was, traveling in the company of others that accepted him, especially one particular young lady who cast him a heartwarming smile.

"Erik shall have to visit you often now that you will be living I your uncle's home," Erik said cheerily, though his smile and eyes did not match his voice.

"Don't be silly – you can stay in the house!" Fanette insisted. "You may take the Master's room, he would have wanted it that way." She cast Angelique a knowing wink, laughing as the girl blushed. "The Mistress told us that you have a home under the opera house and that you let her stay in her own room, therefore it is only fair that she return the favor." Poking her head out of the carriage, she shouted, "Isn't that right, dearest?!"

"What?!" Lamar shouted against the wind.

"Monsieur Erik is staying with us!" she repeated to him.

"Well, I certainly hope so! I'm preparing his room myself," her husband called back.

Erik was dumbstruck by the news, his jaw slowly dropping. Angelique giggled, kissing his cheek. "You're part of a family now, Erik. I suggest you start getting accustomed to it."

"A…family?" he echoed, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.

"Of course, Monsieur Erik," Fanette smiled. "We are all family here."

Smiling back weakly, he held Angelique's hand in his for the rest of the journey.

Thanks to the pleasant springtime weather, the roads had already begun to clear up from the slush and muck of thawing, making their ride smooth and quicker than expected. The little caravan arrived on schedule at the main Archambault residence and set to work once they stopped before the great façade of the grand house.

"Oh my," Angelique gasped, seeing the pristine pearl-white walls and glinting silver railing of the three balconies it offered.

"Welcome home, _Comtesse, Maestro_," Adrien grinned playfully as he saw the pair gape at the house.

"Go on inside," Fanette urged them. "We'll get everything inside, don't you fret your pretty little heads."

"_Pretty indeed,"_ Erik rolled his eyes.

"Let's go, Erik!" Angelique exclaimed, tugging on his arm as an excited child might do so to a parent.

Caving in to her request, he allowed her to take him inside as he drunk in every detail the elegant home had to offer. The _Comte de Archambault_ was not without taste – many items in the home were expensive and decadent, and yet there was a homey feel to each room. Simple furniture would be balanced out nicely with gorgeous accents, wallpaper, or brick-a-brack, or vice versa, and each room appeared to be its own 'person'. The house was also extremely spacious, practically a miniature manor of sorts set in the middle of the city. A polished staircase stood before them as they entered through the front door, enticing them to climb to the other floors above.

Erik smiled, amused, as he let Angelique lead him, her eyes large with wonder. "As Erik recalls, you used to live in a fine house also."

"This is a _palace_ compared to my first home, Erik!" she protested, peeping into each room before running to the next. "Oh Erik! I'm so glad you'll be here to share this with me…I wouldn't know what to do with all this on my own!"

"You need not share anything with Erik," he reminded her. "I do not wish for you to feel entitled or forced to-" Her lips silenced him, his heart jumping sporadically within him as she took him off guard.

"You were all I had a few mere days ago…you are my world, Erik," she reminded him, embracing him as he stood still, utterly bewildered. "I mean it when I say I'm happy to share this with you…if it weren't for you, I might not have met the Jouberts. I might have been taken away by Capucine, or even Maurice-" She could feel him tense at the mention of those names, even hearing him grind his teeth. "Erik," she said softly, taming him as she took hold of his face in her hands. "Forget them…we have so much to look forward to."

He smiled at her, nodding his head as he stroked her cheek with his knuckles. "Yes, we do…"

"Maestro?!" Adrien's voice echoed through the house, earning their attention at once.

With a frustrated growl, Erik bit his tongue and hurried downstairs, finding the young man at once. "Yes, Adrien? What is it-?"

"This just came in by a delivery boy, he said it was for you. He said it was urgent," Adrien said, handing a sealed envelope to Erik.

He took the slip from the boy's hand at once, reading the names off of the front. His eyes widened as he saw who had sent the letter, his fingers violently ripping the paper open until he had the letter in his hands. He read the message frantically, his face lighting up. "I can't believe it…!" he gasped.

"What is it?" Angelique asked rushing after him.

"Is something wrong?" Adrien asked, his eyes bulging as Erik quickly embraced him, nearly choking him in the process.

"No, something is _right_ for a change!" Erik laughed triumphantly, clenching the note in his fist as he punched the air. "I must go – I have to see for myself!"

"Erik, wait!" Angelique called after him, latching herself onto his sleeve. "What's going on?!"

"You'll see," he grinned mischievously, winking back at her as he linked his arm with hers and stepped outside. "We'll take a cab!"

**~OG~**

Rupert Adelshire had just counted ten minutes when Erik burst through the door to the manager's office with Angelique beside him. "You were faster than I expected," the old Englishman chuckled, rising from his seat.

"Is it…?!" Erik choked, unable to breathe.

The young Comtesse glanced from one man to the other, her brows furrowed. "What in Heaven's name is going on?"

"It's a surprise," Adelshire winked. Unlocking a drawer in the desk, he opened the compartment and withdrew a thick copy of an opera, complete with a beautiful cover and gold words emblazoned on it.

Erik shook at the sight of it, grabbing onto the nearest chair as he allowed Angelique to support him by his arm. "…you…you did it," he whispered, tears spilling down his masked face.

"No, Erik, _you_ did it," Adelshire beamed. "You should be very proud of yourself."

Angelique gasped in amazement at the papers before her, her own eyes spilling with tears as well. "You…published it, while we were away?"

"I read through the whole thing within two nights – I couldn't put it down," Adelshire laughed. "I have a friend who owns a publishing company here and I got him to pull a few strings…speaking of which…" He took out another document from the desk and placed it beside the opera, sending Erik's knees into a wobbling fit as he collapsed into the chair and stared at the papers. "That's right…you own the rights, as you should anyways."

Angelique gaped at the papers, the smile from her face never fading. The opera read in its sparkling golden font: _"Don Juan Triumphant - Composed, Written, and Created by Erik Chevalier."_


	24. Coming to Life

**Chapter Twenty-Four – Coming to Life**

"We must get to work at once," Adelshire chirped. "We'll need to make the announcements and start casting and practicing. I thought that perhaps we might complete this as a 'farewell send-off' to our dear friends Moncharmin and Richard. They recently got in contact and said that their search is going well but they need more time. We have another two weeks or so, so why don't we complete the play by the end of the month?"

"A-A _month_?" Erik gasped, his mind racing with excitement and concerns. "But this is- I mean, there's so much to do, and so little time! This is all new to the cast…wait a moment. You want this performed as the 'farewell performance'?"

"And as your introduction as the new manager of the _Palais Garnier_," grinned the elder. "It shall be a spectacle that no one will forget! What do you say, Erik? Can you handle this project?"

A harsh, sudden laugh escaped him, startling both Adelshire and Angelique. They watched him as he shook his head, slowly breathing as if to calm himself. "…all my life, I have waited for such a moment…to take charge and credit for something of my own…to be loved for my work…to be accepted…little by little, these are all happening, and it's so sudden…is this all real?" Looking up to Angelique, his haunting, gaping black eyes brimming with tears, Erik took her hands, gripping them as if his life depended upon it. "Is this all real? Or is it a dream? Erik cannot bear to have his hopes dashed once more-!"

Angelique pressed her mouth to his, silencing him with a sweet, gentle kiss, squeezing his hands within hers. She could feel Adelshire's amused gaze on them but ignored him, her thoughts only on Erik. Pulling away, she knelt down beside him and pressed her hand to his masked cheek, her thumb slowly wiping away the tears that came out. "This is real, Erik, so very real…and it is yours. All you have to do is reach out and grab it."

His lips stretched into a shaky, weary smile as he glanced at the beaming Adelshire and returned his gaze to his beloved angel, bringing her free hand to his lips and kissing it reverently. "So I shall…"

**~OG~**

"You want me to what?!" Adrien gaped at Erik, his eyes as large as saucers as the entire household sat down to supper. Both Lamar and Fanette stared at their new friend also, unable to believe what he had suggested.

"I shall repeat myself for clarification," Erik answered curtly, his sarcasm bringing out a smirk on Angelique's face as she continued to eat her meal in her uncle's home. "My _magnum opus_ has finally been completed and published and it shall be performed as so to announce my presence as the official new manager of the _Palais Garnier_ Opera House. I already have a cast in mind, and I should greatly appreciate it if you – with your family's consent, of course – be trained under my guidance for one of the male leads."

The family remained agog at his announcement, stunned to even consider that their boy would be chosen for a lead role and perform before Parisian society on a grand opera stage. It was absolutely enthralling, and terrifying. "M-Monsieur Erik, don't these things take time-?" Lamar asked, struggling to regain his composure.

"Oh, most assuredly," Erik nodded. "I can promise you that practice sessions will occur everyday, and I am a bit of a perfectionist-"

"A _bit_?" Angelique grinned mischievously.

He pouted at her before correcting himself. "I _am_ a perfectionist, but I know that if Adrien puts his heart and soul into this, he shall stun all of Paris with his voice. If he truly wishes it-"

"I do, I _really_ do!" Adrien said suddenly, startling everyone at the table. His head snapped over to face his parents, his eyes glistening with hope while he pleaded, "Oh please, Father, Mother! Can't I do this? I shall still do my chores and help around, but please, just this once, I want to do something for myself! I know I can do this! Monsieur Erik is musical genius, really – you haven't heard him, but I can promise you he's incredible!"

Erik coughed and covered his mouth with his fist, struggling to hide back the pride he felt as the boy poured out praises about him. While he was growing accustomed to it, he still felt quite awkward as he was given so much positive attention from so many people all at once. His eyes traveled to Lamar, who absorbed the boy's words with great contemplation. At last, the man held up his hand, silencing his son. Everyone held their breath in anticipation, waiting for his response.  
"…this is truly what you want, isn't it?" Lamar asked, turning his eyes to his son.

Adrien nodded his head, determination glistening in his eyes. "With all my heart, Father. I know I can do this with Maestro's help."

Erik could not hide his delight as he heard the boy recite the nickname he had bestowed upon him since he first heard him sing. He had only briefly given the boy lessons on how to improve his scales before returning to Paris, but he heard him as they had driven back, his singing greatly improved. He was a fast learner, and his rich baritone would prove to be perfect for the role he had in mind.

Lamar turned his attention to Erik, a small smile growing on his half-deformed lips. "Then I give him to your care, Erik. Make us all proud."

Erik and Adrien beamed at this, exchanging excited glances towards one another before showering Lamar with words of gratitude. Fanette laughed at their eagerness, rising from the table. "This calls for a celebration – I have fresh strawberry tarts waiting in the oven!"

"I'll help," Angelique volunteered, excusing herself from the table. She hurried after the matronly woman, delighted to see Erik in such an ecstatic state. He was already quite deep in a discussion as to what they could expect from the practices and what his opera was about. _"He's so like a little boy showing off his new toy to friends…he deserves some time to himself."_

"I'm so happy for your darling beau and my dear Adrien," Fanette confessed as she handed the oven mitts to her mistress, preparing a beautiful glass platter to place the pastries upon. "I've never seen Adrien so excited…we both knew he loves music, but we never imagined it would come to this! My boy has voiced his dreams before, but of course, that's what he stated they were – just dreams that he was sure he would never be able to accomplish…oh, to see my child upon that grand stage!" She sighed, placing her hand over her heart. "Wouldn't that be something…? Oh, phooey, what am I saying?" she giggled, shaking her head and placing the elegant tray before Angelique. "Lamar and I could never afford those tickets-"

"Erik will get you some, I'm certain of it," she intercepted. "If not, I could always purchase them."

"We couldn't let you-" she protested.

"You and your family have been so kind and welcoming to both me and Erik…it's so wonderful to be loved, to be happy…so it's the very least I could do."

"Oh! You're an angel, child!" she gushed, reaching out to the girl. "May I-?"

"Don't even ask," she smiled, embracing the woman in turn. She closed her eyes as she felt Fanette's arms encircle her. She breathes deeply and smelled the delicious desserts her motherly maid had created, her ears full of the sounds of laughter and playful banter from the dining room where the men remained. _"Home…I'm home…"_

Pulling apart after a blissful moment, Fanette dabbed at her eyes before putting on a huge smile and taking the loaded platter. "Shall we?" she asked cheerfully, leading the way out to the dining room once more.

After sharing the delectable treats and clearing off the table, Erik played his violin for them as they gathered around the drawing room fire, sipping their coffee and tea while listening on in amazement and wonder. Angelique read a few verses of the Bible shortly afterwards before she and Adrien pleaded for Erik to play something else, which he happily obliged as he strode to the piano.

"Such talent," Fanette sighed, rising from her seat. "Truly, _monsieur_, you are blessed by God."

"Blessed _and_ cursed," Erik commented, touching his mask unconsciously. Raising his eyes, he caught sight of Angelique's face, glowing in the firelight. "…perhaps more blessed than cursed."

With a final 'goodnight' wished to one and all, the family departed to their rooms, ready for a good night's rest. Angelique arose from her seat when she felt Erik's thin, bony hand curl around hers. Peeking over her shoulder, she raised an eyebrow at him curiously.

"I must ask you, Angelique…" He waited until she had turned around completely to face him, taking both her hands in his. "…you had told Erik you would think about it, and now I must ask once more…" His eyes burned with such intensity that Angelique almost believed that they were on fire. "…will you play the part of Isabel?"

It all came back in a rush, a gasp escaping her as she remembered her discussion with Erik, so many days ago during a carriage ride. _"I shall think about it,"_ she had told him. She bit her bottom lip, a motion which Erik found himself staring at suddenly. Everything about her called to him, and he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and kiss her until she could not breathe. _"Control…control,"_ he told himself, knowing it was most ungentlemanly to do such a thing, especially now that they had company around them in the same building. The last thing he needed was to impugn her honor in the public's eye.

"…do you truly believe I can do this, Erik? With what I've learned, and what I'll continue to learn before the performance?" she asked solemnly, gazing into his eyes. "I want the truth – don't tell me 'yes' simply because you are my beau."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You know that Erik is rather blunt when it comes to music, dearest…yes, I am certain you can do it."

"And is this what you truly want?" she asked, already knowing the answer, though her heart continued to pound madly within her breast. "I'm no Christine Daae-"

"Forget about Christine, _mon ange_," he said softly, watching her shiver as he touched her hair. "If I had wanted Christine, I would have sought her out…no, Angelique, it is you that I dream of seeing on that stage. The part was written explicitly for you, and I am certain beyond the shadow of a doubt that you can do this. Just this once…just this one performance, and you may never have to worry about going back out there again. Please? Will you do it?"

Her lips stretched into a heartwarming smile, sending his heart into a happy frenzy. "I'll do it, Erik."

"Thank you," he breathed, embracing her. "All of Paris shall love you, just as I do."

"I'm not singing for Paris," she informed him. Pulling away from him, she tugged him up the steps to her bedroom and shut the door, leaving them in complete darkness. His eyes glowed like golden embers, blinking at her in bewilderment. "I'm singing for you, Erik, and for you alone."

His chest ached with a pang of happiness, freezing as he heard her softly sing a line of his music that he had practiced with her during their stay in Rouen. She sang it sweetly, her memory the only sheet music she needed. The words tugged at his soul, just as he imagined they would if she had consented. As she completed the final line, he took her in his arms and drew nearer to her when she stopped him by placing her hands on his chest. He opened his lips, wondering if he had gone too far, when he felt her hands gently take his mask from his face, exposing his deformity to her in the darkened quarters.

"Kiss me goodnight?" she asked, inclining her head towards him.

Understanding why she had brought him all that way just to explain her answer, he smiled back at her before leaning forth. "Anything for you, Angelique."

**~OG~**

Rupert Adelshire shifted through the papers on his desk, stroking his mustache pensively when a knock on the door drew his attention. He sighed as he arose from his chair, adjusting his tie accordingly. It had been nearly a week since the announcement had been made that the next production would be _Don Juan Triumphant_, sending the whole opera house into a frenzied panic and excited haze at the notion of performing a new, unfamiliar work. Everyone was being pushed to do their best, constantly practicing numerous times throughout the day and deep into the night. While Erik sent messages and continued occasional mischief as "the Opera Ghost", he remained occupied during the daytime, claiming he had an important project he absolutely had to complete before the month was up. So it was that Adelshire continued to work as the acting manager with the occasional hand from Monsieur Mercier.

"Come in," he said at last, watching the door open. His eyes widened as he saw the slender figure enter, his face lighting up. "My dear, darling girl! How have you been?!" He leapt forward, with arms wide open as he embraced the beaming visitor.

"Hullo Grandpapa," the teenaged brunette replied, kissing his cheek. "I thought I'd come and visit, Mum said you'd be here. I had no idea you were so interested in the opera."

"Believe me, I have found an extremely worthwhile investment," he chuckled, ushering her into the room. "So, Mary, how have your studies been going?"

"Very well, thank you. I've made it to the top of my class," she grinned at him, earning a jolly laugh from her grandfather.

"You always were competitive. I take it that the gents in your class don't care to be beaten by a young lady in management and accounting, eh?"

"Not in the least," she answered smugly. "They keep telling me to look into being a librarian or secretary, but you know I'll have none of it."

"That's my girl," he said, kissing her temple. "You're ahead of your time, that's for certain."

"You taught me well," she winked.

"Indeed. She's quite the catch, wouldn't you say?"

Grandfather and granddaughter froze at the sound of the smooth, sly voice, their eyes moving towards the open door of the office. In entered a handsome gentleman of twenty-four summers, his dark hair slicked back smartly while his attentive brown eyes found their target. He smiled at the pair, sending shivers down their spines as he strode confidently into the room, adjusting his cufflinks.

"Randall," Mary stated coldly, her own chocolate colored eyes glaring at him. "What are you doing here?"

"I imply couldn't resist – I had to come to Paris to see what dear old Rupert was up to. Besides, I can't bear to think of being parted from you," he cooed sweetly.

Adelshire stepped in front of his granddaughter, shielding her with his arm. "You were stalking her, weren't you?"

"That's such a distasteful term…I prefer, 'keeping tabs' on her," he chuckled menacingly. Clasping his hands behind his back, the smile never fading from his face, he asked, "Do you mind if we take a look around?"

"I'm afraid not," Adelshire answered curtly. "I have quite a bit of work to get through, and you are most certainly not welcomed here."

"You cut me to the heart," Randall winced, mockingly placing his hand over his heart. "Do you honestly think that will deter me?"

"Perhaps not, but the police shall," Adelshire frowned. A slow smile grew on his face as he added quietly, "If they don't, then the Ghost will."

The smirk from Randall's face vanished for an instant, his eyes flickering with fear, before he quickly masked his concern. "Ghosts? Really? In this opera house?" he scoffed, waving it off.

"Oh yes, we have a particularly stern Opera Ghost who owns and runs this place, and I take great care to obey his commands, lest there be _accidents_," he answered coolly.

As if on cue, a soft, eerie voice whispered into the room swirling around them. "Be gone from my opera house…_be gone_!"

"D-Did you hear that?" he gasped, jumping upon hearing the voice.

"Hear what?" Mary asked, catching a glance from her uncle and playing along though the hairs on her neck stood on end.

Randall pointed an accusing finger at them, his eyes large and bloodshot. "You've got something up your sleeve, Rupert…so be it! You haven't seen the last of me!" As the hidden voice began to chuckle darkly, he scrambled out of the room and made his escape.

Adelshire peeped into the hall, watching the young man split. As he started to laugh, a secret passage in the wall opened silently and out stepped Erik. The old man chuckled, casting him a knowing wink. "Ah! Erik! I'm so glad you could come. I realize you're extremely busy-"

"I needed a bit of fresh air…it seems a good idea that I did," Erik explained casually, sending a dirty look down the hall. Returning his attention to his partner, he lifted his hat, displaying a rather normal-looking face. Adelshire blinked, stunned by the sudden reveal – Erik had never shown his face before, and to display it now was very out of character. At least, he thought it was Erik…how else would he have known about the passage? This man was as tall and lithe as his partner, with the same voice drifting through his lips, but his skin was a pleasant, lightly tanned hue, his dark-golden eyes gazing out from normal eyelids and eyesockets. He had a rather angular face with profound cheekbones and a prominent nose. There was nothing terribly handsome about him, but there was also nothing terribly hideous about him. "Erik? Is that you?"

"Of course it is," he answered calmly. "Is something the matter?" He couldn't contain the grin on his face as he stepped into the room and bowed to the young lady. "How do you do, _mademoiselle_?"

"Oh! I didn't realize there was someone else here," she gasped, blushing as he took her hand and kissed it. She shivered at the feel of his clammy lips on her skin, but there was something about this strange gentleman that made her feel at ease compared to the crook who had followed her from London.

"I'm sorry if I startled you," he said earnestly.

"This is Erik Chevalier, Mary. He's the brilliant new manager I've hired – I wrote about him in my last letter. He's also the gentleman who wrote the opera we will be performing within a month's time," Adelshire stated, motioning towards the man. He kept his mouth shut about the mask, deciding it was best to remain silent until they were alone.

"You flatter me too much, Rupert," Erik said modestly, bowing his head to them both.

"Erik, this is my granddaughter, and the apple of my eye – Mary," he said, kissing the girl lovingly on the nose.

"A pleasure," Erik nodded.

"The pleasure is all mine," she curtsied.

"Would you like a tour, Mademoiselle Adelshire? I believe there is a practice going on at this very moment," he offered, motioning towards the open door.

Her eyes lit up at once. "Oh, I'd hate to be a bother-"

"Not at all," he smiled, winking at the elder. "Shall we?"

Adelshire chuckled, offering his arm to his granddaughter. Following Erik, he held back his wonder and confusion for the moment, guiding his granddaughter through the vast passages to the stage. When at last they arrived at the stage, there was a young woman singing a mournful piece, holding her audience of friends and fellow workers captivated.

"_No, it is not I – _

_I'm not in his eyes._

_He vies for another's love._

_And I shall abide_

_By my mistress's side – _

_The silent, obedient one."_

No one moved while she sang several more verses describing the heartache she suffered, though she resolved not to impose herself on the one she called "Don Juan". The moment she stopped, everyone applauded. The girl blushed as she modestly accepted their praise, a red-headed woman embracing her at once.

"Angie, I had no idea you could sing like that! These past few days, you've been so silent working on the costumes, and now…gracious, you've given me goosebumps!" The lady laughed and kissed her cheek when she suddenly caught sight of three new figures. "Oh my," she said, jutting her chin out at them to point out their presence.

Adelshire laughed, walking over to the singing seamstress and embracing her. "You were breathtaking, Angelique! Erik has taught you well."

"_Merci_," she said softly, her eyes falling upon the two new figures, one of them making her brows furrow. He looked rather familiar…

"Ah, ladies and gentlemen," Adelshire announced, earning everyone's eyes and ears. " I have a rather important announcement. I have two very important people I should like you all to meet. The first is my granddaughter, Mary Adelshire, visiting from London." He motioned for her to step forth and as she did, the company clapped politely for her arrival. "It was a lovely surprise for myself, and I assume you shall be staying a while, my dear?"

"I do hope so," she winked.

"Excellent. The second person I'd like you all to get acquainted with is Monsieur Erik Chevalier, your new manager and the author of _Don Juan Triumphant_!"

"Oh my," some of the ballerinas gasped and giggled, startled by his commanding presence as he strode over to the star-struck seamstress.

Erik readily accepted the applause, pleased that his new creation had given him such freedom. Really, why didn't he think of this sooner?! Seeing the look of utter shock and awe on Angelique's face made him smile as he took her hand in his and kissed it.

"_Mon ange_," he whispered.

"Erik…?" she gasped, staring at him in disbelief and wonder.

"Thank you for your warm welcome," Erik said aloud, quieting the masses. "It is a great honor and privilege to be here with all of you, and I am most excited to see my work performed…I'm afraid I must go, however. I have my hands full at the moment. I should very much like to steal 'Isabel' away for the time being, though." Giving a flourished bow, he wished them all a good day before guiding Angelique out.

She said nothing, biting her tongue as she impatiently hurried by Erik's side. It was not until they arrived at Box Five that she grabbed him by the shoulders and stared into his eyes. "Erik, is that really you?!" she whispered, still unable to believe what she saw.

"Who else could it be?" he chuckled.

"But…but how-?!"

"It took Erik some time, but he came up with the formula on the first day we returned. It was just a matter of chemistry to figure out what consistency would we appropriate to mask my face. Of course, I also made one for Lamar-"

"That's wonderful!" she beamed, embracing him tightly. "You're a genius, Erik!"

"So Erik has been told," he grinned. His smile vanished as he saw her stare at him with her brows furrowed. "What is it?"

"Can you…I mean, does it come off?" she asked, cautiously reaching out and touching his skin-like mask. It moved nearly seamlessly with his facial expressions, with only a few positions that remained stiff when he tried to frown or smile too widely.

"Of course it does – you may touch it, dearest, it shan't bite you – but why do you ask?"

"Take it off," she pleaded, watching him stare at her.

"Why? Are you not pleased?" he asked, almost hurt from the request.

"I'm quite pleased, and very impressed. I have to say you look rather dashing…but when it's the two of us, Erik, you don't need it. I love you just the way you are."

His heart melted at her words, his hand moving to his hairline so that he could dig his nails under the thin film and gently tug it off. Stuffing it carefully into his coat, he felt her hands on his exposed cheeks as she stood on her tiptoes to claim his mouth. He greedily accepted, pulling her into his embrace so that he might wrap his arms around her and never let her go. Never had he felt so alive until she walked into his opera house and changed his life forever.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks to **Filhound** for the constant support and reviews :) Hope you all enjoyed this chapter and please let me know what you thought of it! See you next time!


	25. Unforeseen Circumstances

**A/N: **Thank you for the continued support! :) I hope you enjoy this chapter and please let me know what you think! (I only own OCs, blah blah) ;) See you next time!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five – Unforeseen Circumstances **

"You have visitors, _monsieur_," the butler informed him that morning with a smile on his face.

Philippe de Chagny raised an eyebrow at his employee, curious to know just who could be visiting at this early hour in the morning. "Is that so?"

As the butler began to speak once more, the cooing of their head maid filled the air, full of loving chastising. "To think, you up and vanish and we have no clue where you are until now that you're back home, safe and sound again!" she giggled, her footsteps echoed by others.

Philippe's brows furrowed at this, setting his morning tea down on the table and pipe before rising from his seat and abandoning his breakfast. _"Could it be…?"_

Two heads of blonde hair entered the room, both sets of blue eyes upon him in an instant, waiting for a reaction from the Comte. He gawked at them, stunned and still as a statue.

"…hello, brother," Raoul de Chagny said at last, his arm placed securely around Christine's shoulders. "We're home."

Philippe said nothing, his throat dry as he took a step towards them, his emotions in turmoil. Reaching out to his little brother, he placed his shaking hand upon his shoulder and gripped him. Swallowing hard, he forced out an answer. "…hello."

Raoul released Christine for a moment, embracing his brother tightly. He felt Philippe slowly return the embrace, still shocked to see him return. He chewed his lower lip, knowing that he really should have sent in a letter, but this seemed safer, considering what happened when they were last in Paris. They had taken a huge risk, at Christine's insistence, to come back, and before they did anything else, Raoul made her promise that they would see his brother after visiting Mamma Valerius.

At last, the two brothers pulled apart and shared an uncertain, weary smile. "You…you came home…but why-?"

"We wanted to see our family again," Raoul explained. "We already stopped by the Valerius estate…I…I almost didn't come in here, and I was the one who wanted to see you…but Christine talked some sense into me and, well, here we are."

Philippe looked to Christine, who had remained silent throughout the awkward reunion. A small smile grew on his lips as he took her hand and kissed it, bowing politely to her. "Thank you."

"Of course," she answered softly. "You're brothers, after all."

"Philippe, tell me…is _he_ still…well, what I mean to say is-" Raoul began, his arm moving around Christine's shoulders once more.

"If you're talking about Erik, I can assure you that all is well. He's changed since your last encounter," Philippe informed them casually, startling the newlyweds.

Christine raised her hand to her dropped jaw, staring at him in disbelief. "…you act as if you got in contact with him."

"Oh, I did," he answered with a shrug. "We got together and had a little chat just the other day. Do have a seat, there's plenty to eat."

"Wait just a moment! You mean to tell me that you sat down and talked with that…that _monster_?!" Raoul all but shouted, causing his brother and wife to shush him as though he were a child. "Terribly sorry…but in all seriousness, Philippe-!"

"I have much to tell you about how things have changed around here," Philippe sighed, rolling his eyes at his little brother's over exaggerations. "Do take a seat – you'll need it…"

* * *

_Five Days Ago…_

Philippe was extremely curious to know just what Rupert Adelshire wanted of him to call him over so early that afternoon. Knocking on the door of the estate, the servants greeted him cordially, taking his hat and coat before ushering him into the drawing room where an early tea was being served.

"Ah, _Comte de Chagny_!" Adelshire smiled, puffing at his pipe as he stood by the hearth. Setting the item down upon the mantle, he walked over to the man and offered his hand. "I'm delighted you could come on such short notice."

"The pleasure is all mine," Philippe answered politely, shaking hands with the elder before taking a seat at one of the chairs available, catching sight of the fanciful tea set placed on the coffee table. "I must confess, I was rather surprised that you asked me to come in. We've never formally met, you know."

"Yes, I'm afraid I'm at fault for that," Lord Adelshire apologized, offering the man a cigar, which he readily accepted. "However, I have been extremely busy…I don't suppose you've heard that the _Garnier_ is once again under new management?"

"Only rumors…" He raised an eyebrow at Adelshire, watching him pour three cups of tea. _"Three? Is someone else coming…?"_

"My comrades Firmin and Moncharmin are ready to leave behind the opera business and I have become the new owner, however I do have a new partner and I've made him the manager of the _Palais Garnier_. He's quite remarkable," he chuckled. "I believe you may have met already, unfortunately, it was under different and unpleasant circumstances from what I've been told."

Philippe stared at him, struggling to piece the message together. "…I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't follow. Just who are we talking about?"

"Good afternoon, Comte de Chagny."

Philippe froze at the sound of the third voice, familiarity echoing from the depths of his memory. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his head and looked over his shoulder to see a gentleman he had never seen before standing at the center of the room. He couldn't recall hearing the door open which made his skin crawl, especially as he watched the stranger take his hat off after unclasping his cloak.

"Philippe de Chagny, this is Erik Chevalier, my partner and the new manager of the _Palais Garnier_," Adelshire spoke, his eyes moving from one man to the other.

The moment the man raised his face and revealed his odd, entrancing black and golden eyes, Philippe jumped out of his chair, reaching for the pistol at his side.

"That's quite unnecessary, _Monsieur le Comte_," Erik said calmly, fearlessly taking another step towards him.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Philippe demanded, glaring accusingly at Adelshire. "Have you set me up-?!"

"Perish the thought!" the man frowned, truly looking insulted by his words. "I realize that you both are not necessarily on friendly terms, but this is utterly ridiculous!"

"The last time I saw this-this _thing_, I barely escaped with my life!" he snapped, pointing at Erik as he continued to walk towards them. He took a step back as Erik arrived at the table and sat down, accepting the cup of tea from Adelshire. "Just what did you have in mind, Opera Ghost-?!"

"Have a _seat_," Erik snapped, his eyes blazing as he glared at the man.

Philippe was stunned by the finality in his voice, sensing his frustration and hurt from the lash of words. He remained standing, however he did walk back towards them and waited until Erik had taken a sip from his cup before clearing his throat, waiting for an explanation. He was absolutely befuddled by the new face he now wore – he looked incredibly…well, _normal_, compared to the last time they crossed paths.

"I know this is very difficult for you, _monsieur_, however, I'm afraid that my patience is wearing thin," Erik said bluntly. "So I shall state my case as simply as possible so that you may comprehend what I am asking of you. I only wished to ask you to keep an eye out for a particular figure lurking about in Paris."

"A-ha…and that figure would be…?" Philippe asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Randall Cutler," Adelshire said, his entire countenance changing. His eyes darkened and the cheerful smile from his face disappeared.

Philippe and Erik exchanged glances at one another, Erik's knowing, Philippe's intrigued. "Cutler? I've never heard of the fellow," the Comte commented.

"He's recently arrived from London," Erik explained.

"I take it that you both are familiar with the gentleman-?"

"He's _not_ a gentleman," Adelshire snapped, startling both of his guests. "He's had a long history with my family…I knew the boy's father when I was young, and he was terrible. He was a drunken fool and an abusive man…Randall's mother died when he was a child, so he was in my custody for a time. I was the one who introduced him to investments and got him interested as he got older…but he was utterly obsessed with being with his father, and vanished one day. He didn't come back for years until suddenly when his father died. The funeral was brief, and I noticed there was something different about him." He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "All that time I had invested in the boy and hoped he would become something more…he threw it all away, he valued his father's 'guidance' on being careless, selfish, and impulsive. He was no better than a common street rat…"

Philippe's brows furrowed as he saw Erik rise and assist the old man into a chair, gripping his friend's shoulder comfortingly. This "monster" was extremely friendly and at ease with his Lordship…perhaps Angelique had truly changed him for the better… "As bad as all that?"

"Worse," Adelshire confessed. "He's absolutely obsessive. He went on his way, but he always managed to come back…he even started eyeing my granddaughter, Mary. The last we saw of him was over a year ago when he went on an excursion to America…Mary came to visit me just the other day but we found that he had followed her…however, I'm afraid she's not the only one who has his attention."

At this, Erik's eyes met Philippe, a chill running through the Comte's spine as he realized what he was insinuating. "Do you mean-?"

"That's why I asked you to come," Erik said. "Angelique told me last night that she saw him lurking about. She can sense his presence…I've been able to keep him at bay, however…" His eyes darkened and his tone became black. "I shall not hesitate to stop him if he gets too close."

"I have no doubt of that," he muttered. "I ask again, why involve me?"

"I know you still care for Angelique," Erik said coolly, looking him in the eye.

Philippe sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "I _do_ care for her, but I love Sorelli. I've made a point of making this clear to both girls, and they accepted it. I just hope you can as well."

"Just the same, I would appreciate your assistance," Erik admitted, rolling his eyes as Philippe's jaw dropped. "Close your mouth, _monsieur_. It's not as if I gave you the secret to eternal life on Earth."

"We could _both_ use your help, as you _are_ a patron of the opera…that is, if you still wish to be," Adelshire cut in, hoping that the Comte would not decide to abandon them at this moment. "Randall is a dangerous man, and I'm afraid he may cause problems. I've already alerted the police, but I'd rather we all be on our guard."

Nodding his head after a moment's pause, the Comte de Chagny answered firmly, "For the sake of the opera house and its employees, especially our beloveds, I shall gladly offer my assistance in any way possible."

"Thank you," Erik nodded. "I've already alerted Nadir-"

"The Persian?" asked Philippe raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, he's been keeping an eye on Randall since he stepped into the _Garnier_," Adelshire informed him.

"There's one thing you should remember, in the case of an emergency," Erik added. "Cutler is an extremely superstitious fellow. He believes in ghosts, spirits, hauntings…"

"Why is that?"

Adelshire shook his head and frowned. "…I believe he was the cause of his own father's sudden death…God help me, I even wonder if he might have been disturbed as a child and done something to harm his mother. I know in that time that he ran away to be with his father and went through that change, he did and saw terrible things…I believe that is why he is so superstitious. He believes he is haunted by the spirits of those whom he has done ill against. When he approached Mary and myself, he was petrified when I mentioned 'the Phantom of the Opera', and the moment Erik spoke out, he became as pale as a sheet."

"Speaking of which, just how did you find out about Erik being the 'Ghost'?" Philippe asked, raising both brows at the elder. "You seem awfully comfortable with the whole situation."

"I found it fascinating, and I will not judge Erik for his past and previous prejudices," the Englishman stated stubbornly. "It was Angelique that brought us together in the end."

"That doesn't surprise me," chuckled the Comte. Walking towards them, he offered his hand to Erik though his mind screamed against the action. "Very well, then. I trust we shall be seeing each other more often from now on…if we are to work together, I certainly hope to at least improve our…erm-"

"Relationship?" Erik offered, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. "Yes, I suppose that would be appropriate. It would be for the best…" Philippe squinted, taking a better look at the face before him. Erik frowned at this, uncomfortable with how he was suddenly being scrutinized. "What is it?"

"Sorry, it's just…how _did_ you make that mask?" he asked, his fascination leaking through at last. "It's incredible!"

A smile worked its way onto his artificial lips. "It wasn't easy, but it was well worth the effort…"

* * *

"That truly is incredible," Christine gasped, placing her hand over her bosom. "And he's quite civil now-?"

"Oh yes. I assure you, we don't go out for drinks each night or play cards like old friends," he smirked at his little brother, noticing the uncomfortable irritation in his eyes. "But he _is_ cordial, he's decent company, and he's got a sharp mind. He's mad about Angelique, you know Raoul, I don't think there would be any problems if you happened to bump into him-"

"We are _not_ going to the opera," Raoul said coldly. "That maniac is not to be trusted-"

"Raoul, please," Christine pleaded, placing her hand on his arm. "At least let me talk to him. If he's really changed, he won't come after us. We can't live in fear like this forever."

"I can't risk losing you," he shook his head.

"You won't," she insisted.

"He might try to trick you again-"

"Please, Raoul…just a moment?"

Raoul glanced at his brother, seeing no signs of discouragement. "You're not being a very big help, you know," he sighed in defeat.

"Was I ever supposed to be?" Philippe chuckled, patting him on the back. "While I won't suggest leaving her alone with him, you should at least go there. They're getting ready to perform a new production."

"You'll come with us, won't you?" Christine asked, turning her attention to her brother-in-law. She was aware that he hadn't approved of Raoul's interest in her when they first began to see one another, but he seemed relaxed as of late, as if he had begun to accept them after the madness that had ensued with Erik's control over them all. The idea of another madman lurking the streets of Paris made her more anxious than meeting her old teacher.

"Of course," he nodded. "Just as soon as we finish our meal."

**~OG~**

"Isn't this exciting, dear?" Fanette gushed as she and Lamar watched from the wings of the opera while their son practiced his lines. "Oh, he's wonderful!"

"Yes, he is," Lamar nodded, a smile growing on his lips. Pride swelled within him as Adrien's voice rang out in the air. He reached for his cheek, feeling the strange material that now covered his deformed half. He had fallen to his knees once Erik had placed it on his face the night he brought it home and adjusted it over his marred face. Oh, how he wept, gripping onto Erik's cloak after seeing his own reflection. Both his wife and son were in awe when they saw him, their faces lighting up as he cried. _"We love you even without it,"_ they vowed, but he was so blinded with ecstasy and gratitude that all he did was cry, never letting go of the inventor's cloak. Lamar was not one to cry so easily, but that night he wept as he never had before, unable to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could rejoin his fellow man on the street without having to attract so much unwanted attention…He was given a second chance to live once more.

Returning his gaze to the stage, he enjoyed his son's singing, never failing to show his support in any way possible. Erik had done so much for them and continued to give, always treating them as equals, never as servants – they would forever be in his debt, always treasuring his friendship and kindness. The lessons which Adrien received each night greatly improved his voice, his baritone filling the elegant auditorium with a sweet, heartfelt sonata that begged for a woman's affections. The moment Adrien finished, his fellow performers cheered and clapped, causing him to bow his head modestly towards them before excusing himself to see his parents.

"Oh, my dear, dear boy!" Fanette cooed, kissing him repeatedly. "I am so proud of you!"

"Mother!" he hissed, though he couldn't contain his delight as he grinned. "Not in front of the others!"

"Oh, let them see!" she laughed, embracing him tightly.

"Fanette, don't smother him," Lamar chuckled, patting his son's shoulder. "You're doing well under Erik's guidance."

"I couldn't have done any of this without Maestro's help," Adrien agreed. "And I still have much to learn and practice."

"I'd say you're doing a wonderful job so far," Becca said as she joined the group with her friends in tow. "Adrien, you are marvelous!"

"It's so nice that your parents could come," Meg beamed.

"Do thank your mother for us, dear. She's the one who let us in," Fanette said kindly as she looked towards the dancer.

"Adrien, I don't believe you've met her yet, but I'd like you to meet our new friend," Angelique said, motioning for a hidden figure to step forth. "This is Mary Adelshire."

"Yes…yes, I remember," Adrien nodded, his eyes widening as he saw the beautiful young girl standing before him, a shy smile on her lips. Bowing to her, he said, "It is a pleasure and an honor to meet you, _mademoiselle_."

"The pleasure's all mine," she blushed, offering her hand to him. She felt her neck become suddenly warm as he took her hand and kissed it, his eyes lingering on her for a moment before standing erect and clasping his hands behind his back. "You're being trained by my grandfather's partner, just like Angelique, aren't you?"

"They are indeed," Erik's velvety voice curled around them as he joined them, seemingly appearing out of thin air. He grinned as they all jumped in surprise at his approach…all, that is, except Angelique, who smiled at him as he came forth. "I take it you are enjoying your stay here in Paris so far, Mademoiselle Adelshire?"

"O-Oh, yes, M-Monsieur Chevalier," she stammered, her heart pounding from his surprising entrance. He reminded her of a cat at times, appearing out of nowhere and never making his presence known until he was directly behind them all. Still, he was extremely charming and exceedingly polite. In fact, everyone she had encountered at the opera was happy to have here there. She spent nearly every day with her newfound companions when she wasn't with her grandfather, and rightly so. She had aught glimpses of Randall Cutler snooping around the opera since she arrived, and even caught a glance of him outside her grandfather's estate one evening. Fear encircled her whenever this happened, making her uneasy throughout most of the day. The worst of all this was the now Angelique, kind and welcoming Angelique, had also mentioned seeing the man stalking around her home as well.

"Not to worry, Erik will take care if it if he gets too close," she had said calmly, unnerving the sixteen-year-old British girl. Still, she felt much safer with these excitable French people that always talked about a phantom running the opera house than staying at her grandfather's home with a handful of servants.

"Maestro, you said you wanted to take the night off?" Adrien asked, turning to his teacher at once.

"_Oui_, just tonight," the man nodded. "I shall be staying at my current residence." He sent Angelique a wink to which she smiled back. The Jouberts would keep their business secret and had a silent understanding of them – though Erik and Angelique lived together in the same house, whether it be in Pierre Archambault's home or in Erik's house (which they still had no idea was underneath the opera house), the two never had any extramarital affairs. Erik was a gentleman, after all, and Angelique would not allow it either way.

"You see, Christine? What did I tell you? He has practically started a school since you left."

Erik's eyes widened upon hearing the voice and name, his brows furrowing as his mind began to race. Glancing over his shoulder, he sucked in a breath as he saw three more figures approach them.

"Hello Erik," Philippe de Chagny greeted him with a tip of his hat. "I thought you might like to see some familiar faces."

Raoul gaped at him in awe, unable to mask his shock upon seeing Erik with a normal face. While his jaw dropped to the floor, Christine's bright blue eyes glistened with admiration and friendly affection. "Hello, Erik."

A smile slowly worked its way to his lips as he mimicked Philippe's actions and tipped his wide-brimmed fedora to her. "Hello again, Christine."


	26. Learning to Rely

**Chapter Twenty-Six – Learning to Rely **

"It's so nice to be back," Christine sighed as she took a seat in the sunlight, just outside of a little bistro the girls had chosen for dinner. "I'm glad that Raoul let me come to visit."

"Your darling husband seems a little possessive," Becca noted as she picked up the menu and began to skim. "You ought to put him in his place every so often."

"Heavens, no!" Christine gaped at her.

Sorelli chuckled at her reaction. "You'll have to excuse Rebecca – she's American, she doesn't like it when men start to boss women around."

"My mother's influence," she shrugged. "She was a stubborn, hard-headed woman for her time."

The six females giggled, soon distracted by Christine's new dress and what they were in the mood for. The wife of the Vicomte found herself in awe as she looked at each lady in her company. _"Rebecca from America, Mary from England, Sorelli and Meg, and dear Angelique…what an unusual group we make…"_ She smiled, as they jested and whispered, making her feel as though she had come home to a family reunion.

"Are you back for good, Christine?" Meg asked, tilting her head at her old acquaintance. "Or will you be leaving again?"

"I'm not sure," she answered truthfully. "I convinced Raoul to come back so we could visit family, and I do hope we can live here again, especially now that he and Philippe have come to terms." _"And now that Erik won't come after me."_

Their reunion with Erik was surprisingly heartfelt and sincere. Erik kissed Christine's hand and they marveled secretly at his new creation – a mask that appeared lifelike, a fleshy, skin cover that moved with each facial expression made. Angelique had suggested the girls all go for dinner to celebrate her arrival and get to know one another while the gentlemen could remain in the opera and discuss business and whatnot.

"I really do hope you'll stay in Paris," Meg said. "It's nice to be able to go out with you all. I never used to be able to do this."

"That's because you were with those ninnies," Sorelli rolled her eyes. "You're with women now."

Angelique exchanged glances with Mary and Meg before realizing that Christine and Becca were struggling not to laugh at the head dancer's comment. Deep down, they were all still young girls with bright-eyed hopes and dreams. They still giggled and gossiped, and they were all in love in one form or another.

"Such lovely ladies, and with no one to accompany them? What a crime."

The conversation and laughter dried up in an instant as they heard Randall Cutler's voice, his face appearing suddenly behind the nearest lamppost. His smile was already etched onto his face as he approached the group, who stared back at him with glares and clenched fists. "Did I startle you ladies?"

"Not in the least," Becca sniffed. "We could smell your stench a mile away from here. Your overbearing attention is really quite sickening."

"Becca," Mary hissed in a warning tone, her eyes moving as she followed Randall's steps.

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way," he chuckled, his eyes moving towards Angelique. She sat perfectly still, staring off at something across the street. "Mademoiselle Archambault, isn't it? You seem rather distracted."

"I am," she answered simply.

He opened his mouth to speak when a playful yip caught his attention. Looking down to the pavement, he saw a filthy ebony-haired pup, only a few months old, hopping around his legs, biting onto his fine trousers and giving a vicious yank. His eyes flared with anger and agitation as he knocked the dog aside with his leg. "Filthy beast!" he snarled, watching as the puppy whined in pain, barking at him and baring his teeth. "Little monster, I'll show you-!" He raised his head to look for something he might use as a weapon, perhaps a menu or one of the girls' purses, when a face caught his attention. His skin paled as he saw a set a familiar, haunting golden eyes in dark sockets, staring directly at him.

"Monsieur Cutler?" Sorelli asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"D-Do you s-s-see that?" he gasped, pointing across the way.

The girls exchanged perplexed glances with one another before returning their attention to him.

"See what?" Christine asked.

"If this is a joke-" Meg frowned.

He looked down at them, his eyes wild and desperate as he searched each of their faces, wondering why they couldn't see what he had seen. "Th-There's a skeleton with ember eyes in the crowd, I tell you! He's right th-!" He stopped, freezing in place as he looked back towards the spot and saw that the apparition had vanished. He had seen this face before, once when he tried to follow Angelique Archambault home a few nights ago, but the demonic face had appeared in the darkness and sent him off to his current abode in a small hotel room, quivering in fear.

"Is something the matter?" Angelique asked, appearing genuinely concerned at the sight of his distress.

He tripped backwards, his heart thumping furiously as he ran away from them. There was some sort of monster following these girls around, and in broad daylight no less! He had to get away, and fast, before it came after him.

"He just…left?" Mary whispered, giving a sigh of relief.

"I wonder what could have gotten into him?" Becca asked, looking towards Sorelli and Meg for answers.

Christine and Angelique's eyes locked, knowing smiles growing on the lips and vanishing just as quickly. Picking up their menus, they began to skim once more when Angelique's eyes widened. "Oh dear! Whatever happened to that poor puppy?!"

**~OG~**

"That was excellent work, sneaking out the moment he looked away," Adrien commented as he watched Randall run away while the girls continued on merrily with their luncheon.

"_Merci_, my boy," Erik chuckled, pulling his hat over his now exposed face. Oh yes, Adrien had seen it by now, though it hadn't been planned that way…

* * *

_Two Days Ago…_

"I'll be back in a moment, Erik," Angelique said, gathering the tea tray into her hands before stepping out. "I just want to leave this downstairs."

"Of course," he nodded, waiting until she had shut the door before painstakingly pulling his skin mask off. "_Mon Dieu_, this needs some adjustments, it gets so sticky at times!" he growled, setting it aside. Pulling his handkerchief out, he dabbed at his face, glad to be free of the second skin. It really was remarkable, but there had to be a way to make it lighter and a tad more comfortable so it wouldn't stick whenever it got too warm! Perhaps it was just the consistency…at any rate, Lamar seemed to love it when he introduced it just last night. Rising from his seat, he began to walk to the piano placed in his room at the Archambault estate, where his spare mask lay. He smiled wryly as he realized that he rather missed wearing it at times. As his fingers took hold of the mask, the door opened. Foolishly, he glanced up, thinking it was Angelique.

His eyes widened in horror as he saw Adrien gaping at him from the doorframe, his jaw dropping at the sight of him. "NO!" Erik cried, covering his face with the porcelain mask. It was too late, however. The damage had been done.

"M-Monsieur…Erik?" Adrien choked, leaning against the wall for support. "…Mon Dieu!"

"Do not look at me!" he demanded darkly, sending shivers down the boy's spine. "…please, go away," he said a bit more softly, gripping onto the piano for support.

"Erik? Is everything…? Oh dear." Angelique shut the door after her quickly, her own face becoming pale as she realized what had happened. Rushing to Erik's side, she wrapped her arms around him and whispered sweet reassurances to him. "It will be all right, Erik-"

"No, it shan't. My face…"

"Erik, don't-"

"Maestro?"

The couple turned to face the young man, now slowly inching towards them. "…Maestro, I am…very sorry…I should have knocked…I-"

"You've seen Erik's face, it's hideous, I know," Erik snarled, shaking his head in despair. "Adrien, for Angelique's sake, I ask that you don't tell anyone-!"

"I won't, I swear it!" he vowed, kneeling before them. His eyes were filled with tears as he reached out hesitantly to Erik, who gaped at him in awe. "Monsieur Erik…please forgive me. I shouldn't have…I mean-"

"There is nothing for which you must apologize…you would have found out one way or another," Erik sighed wearily. "I cannot blame you for recoiling-"

"But I _shouldn't_ have!" he insisted. "My father is also deformed!"

"Your father is a war hero with battle scars, my boy. I was born with this 'face'," he grumbled. He tensed as he felt Adrien's hand land on his shoulder, his eyes full of pleading.

"You are kind and generous, and a wonderful teacher. How can I abhor you when you are nothing but a gentle master to my family? I can't judge you by your face after all you've done for us."

"Oh, Adrien!" Angelique smiled, kissing his cheek tenderly.

Erik reached out, his hand shaking, and touched the boy's arm, looking into the young man's eyes. "…I truly do appreciate that, Adrien…you have no idea-" he choked on his words, fighting to clear his throat.

The boy embraced him, startling him for a moment. "Forgive me, but I think of you as my teacher and friend."

Slowly, his arms came around and he embraced Adrien back, a great weight lifted from his heart. "And I think of you as my student and friend…thank you, Adrien, thank you…"

* * *

"He'll be back," the Persian said, frowning as he watched the Englishman leave. "We haven't seen the last of him."

"Most assuredly," Philippe nodded. "But we shall be ready, won't we?"

Erik nodded, placing his false nose into position and fixing the collar of his cloak before facing the others. It was strange, being out in the open, with a strange assortment of men that had seen his face and one way or another accepted it. Adrien, Nadir, Philippe, and Raoul all stood with him as they watched the girls, concerned for their well being, working as a unit to protect them.

"I can't help but feel as though I'm stalking them," Raoul pouted. "It's not right."

"You used to stalk Christine all the time outside her dressing room, little brother," Philippe smirked. "What makes this any different?"

"I did _not_!" Raoul snapped.

"Yes you did," the Daroga chuckled. "I saw you myself, many times."

Erik bit his tongue, fighting the urge to laugh at the Vicomte's puckered face when a tiny, weak whimper caught his attention. Looking down, he saw a stray black puppy wandering over, limping towards their side of the rode amidst the hustle of the streets. Moving quickly, he ran towards it and snatched it up, hurrying back the way he came before checking the animal. "Hello, little one. You're the fellow who distracted Cutler, weren't you?" he mused as he petted the dog.

The puppy's ears perked at the sound of Erik's soothing voice, raising his head so that he could see Erik's hidden face. He was a bedraggled thing, tired and worn, his ribs poking out through his skin and thin fur. One of his floppy ears had been torn in half, a light scar running down the canine's neck. However, his bright brown eyes lit up at the sight of Erik's horrible face, his long tail wagging. He whined, placing his injured paw upon Erik's tie before stretching his neck and licking Erik's chin.

"Looks like the little mongrel likes you," Raoul commented, cocking his head at the scene in curiosity.

"Erik always had a connection to animals, even in Persia," Nadir informed them. "They do not judge his appearance, only his kindness."

Erik couldn't hear them at the moment – his heart melted as he held the poor dog in his arms and hummed to him, feeling his skinning body resting against his. "I shall call you Paien," he murmured, smiling as the puppy curled into his arms and placed his head against his heart, sighing in content as he began to drift off to sleep.

"Would you look at that?" Philippe said quietly, a smile growing on his lips.

"Just look at him!" Adrien grinned.

Raoul took a step closer, his heart warmed by the scene. "…might I hold him?"

"_Non_," Erik scowled, shielding the dog from him as though he were a protective mother. He smirked as Raoul pouted. "Come now, Vicomte, you wouldn't want to catch the dog's fleas, now would you?"

"I may be of nobility, but that doesn't mean I'm afraid of dirt or bugs," Raoul remarked smartly, earning a laugh out of Erik.

"Very well…perhaps we could all get together one of these nights and have a drink…yes, you may see Paien as well," Erik rolled his eyes as Raoul continued to eye the dog.

Philippe laughed as he nodded. "I think that's a splendid idea. We might as well, seeing as we're all going to be seeing each other much more often."

"Not to mention our common foe," Nadir pointed out. "We ought to contact the Baron as well. He will be most interested in Mademoiselle Giry's welfare."

"Then we are agreed?" Erik asked.

Raoul and Philippe nodded simultaneously, sharing the same look of determination. "Agreed."

**~OG~**

"Oh, he's a little darling," Angelique cooed as they wrapped the puppy into a towel and brought him into the Louis-Philippe room of Erik's home. "I can't believe you found him…and he's the very same that distracted that horrible man."

"Yes…he's a noble one," Erik said, coddling the little pooch in his arms until they sat down before the fire. He accepted the bottle Angelique gave him and offered it to the baby, watching him chew and suckle on the point to obtain the milk within. "You don't suppose Lamar and Fanette will mind if we bring him into the house?"

"Of course not, he's a little angel," she smiled, kissing the puppy's nose. He licked her, momentarily distracted from his meal. She giggled, scratching him under his chin. "Erik, do you realize you're doting on him like he was your child?"

"In a way, he is," he chuckled, offering the puppy more of the warm beverage. As he watched the tiny creature in his arms, he glanced over at Angelique. "That fiend didn't harm you or your friends, did he?"

"Oh, no. He startled us, but I knew you'd be close by if anything happened," she winked, kissing his unmasked face. "Really, Erik, you should be more careful. If someone else saw your face-"

"You needn't worry for Erik's sake, dearest. He's quite capable of hiding what needs to remain unseen," he reassured her. "Besides, Erik also had company today."

"I still can't believe you're actually getting along with the de Chagnys," she shook her head. "And you're all acting as a unit to protect Mary-"

"As well as you, Angelique," he reminded her.

She sighed. "Oh Erik, I don't need protection. It's Mary I'm worried about. The poor girl doesn't sit still unless she's with someone else, and even then, she appears slightly distracted. She doesn't get a moment's rest."

"We _shall_ stop this Cutler fellow, I promise," Erik vowed, taking her hand and kissing it reverently.

She smiled at him, her eyes straying to the wall, where a small slot peeked out from behind the thick, lush curtain. Her smile twisted into a smirk as she gave Erik a scolding look. "Speaking of promises, what about the torture chamber, Erik?"

He tensed at this, smiling weakly at her. "Ah, yes. Well, with everything that's been happening-"

"I'm teasing, Erik," she laughed, kissing his cheek. Her smile changed into a pout as she said sternly, "But please, Erik, now that there's a puppy, at least lock that room up so that no one can get into it."

"But of course," he sighed in relief. He had promised her he would destroy it, and he would make good on that promise, but with so much going on at the moment, there was no way he'd be able to attend to it until after _Don Juan Triumphant_ was performed. "Don't worry. Erik shall make sure little Paien won't stray inside, isn't that right, little one?"

"Oh yes," the puppy panted as he blinked at Erik. "I won't get into trouble!"

Angelique laughed as she watched Erik use his ventriloquism skills to make it appear that his voice came out of Paien's open mouth. "I'd love to see how children would react if you made their toys talk."

"Hmm…" he mumbled, stroking his chin in thought.

"Erik," she said, raising an eyebrow at him.

"It's a rather good idea," he commented, grinning wickedly. Chuckling, he wrapped one arm around her and drew her close to him. Gazing into the fire, he confessed, "Erik likes this."

"Likes what?" she asked, snuggling beside him.

"Sitting by the fire, with you and little Paien…being able to step outside and being appreciated for my work…I should like to take you out on Sunday to the park for a bit."

Closing her eyes, Angelique nodded her head. "That would be lovely, Erik. I'd like that."

"Good." Humming a lullaby, he leaned back in his chair, holding both woman and puppy to his chest, his own eyes drifting shut after a moment. _"How strange it is…to be happy."_

**~OG~**

"Does this mean you'll be leaving after the show is done?" little Jammes asked while Angelique sewed the hem of her new tutu.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her fingers moving swiftly so that the girl could get back to the _corps_ for practice.

"I mean, will we be getting a new seamstress?" she asked, her eyes on her ballet slippers as she tapped her toes anxiously. "You're a Comtesse now, and you're seeing the new manager."

Angelique laughed softly, shaking her head before biting the thread off. "No, _ma petit_, I'm not going anywhere. I like working here, and I would miss you all very much."

Jammes's face lit up as she heard the news, a squeal of delight escaping her mouth. "Oh, good! I thought Monsieur Chevalier would whisk you away forever!"

"He wouldn't take me from the opera," smirked Angelique. "He loves it too much, as do I." Smoothing out the skirt, she nodded at her work. "It's fixed. Go on and get back."

"I'd rather stay here with you," Jammes pouted.

"Perhaps after the performance is through," she grinned. "Go on." She accepted the ballerina's embrace before watching her run out the door, tucking her loose auburn hair into a bun. Rolling up her sleeves, she sat on the floor and began to sort through her boxes of ribbons and threads. She glanced at the suit before her that was meant for the head male singer, Ulrich, to wear. He had been given the part of "Don Juan" and this was to be his grandest suit throughout the whole play. She had already come up with a design for it but she was beginning to have second thoughts on the color scheme. Tapping her chin, she began to contemplate whether red or gold would be a better color to compliment black when she shivered at the sense of another presence in the room. Angelique stiffened, knowing that this was not a friendly encounter. She did not look back as she calmly set the boxes aside and gripped the small sewing kit scissors in her hand. She waited a moment, pretending to look at the design she had posted on the mannequin before she finally heard a footstep. Taking a deep breath, she arose from the floor and finally turned around.

"Hello Angelique," Randall Cutler said coolly, shutting the door after him before he stepped closer. "I've been wanting to talk to you for the longest time."

"Oh?" she asked, debating whether or not she should try to escape through the main door or through Erik's hidden trapdoor.

"Yes…you're fascinating," he said sweetly, clasping his hands behind his back. "You've just been made a Comtesse and yet you insist on working. You're one of the stars of the show and no one knows how or where you learned to sing…and then there's this new manager you're seeing, no one knows anything about him either."

"I really don't see how that makes me fascinating," she said, taking one step backwards.

"Well, there is one thing that is interesting that I'm fairly certain you know something about," he added, pursing his lips in contemplation. His eyes narrowed and all the playfulness left his voice as he glared at her. "Who is this ghost?"

"_Pardon_?" she asked, raising one eyebrow at him as she stood behind the mannequin for protection. "Ghost? What do you-?"

"This 'Phantom' that haunts the place, he's been out and about, I've seen him!" he snapped, pointing accusingly at her while his eyes blazed. "You've seen him, too! Just yesterday, while you and your lovely friends were enjoying dinner, you looked towards the other side of the street. When I looked up, I saw him, too! Don't deny it, I know you did!"

"_Monsieur_, I ask that you stop this and leave me alone," she frowned as she raised her voice in defiance. "You have no right to barge in here like this!"

A harsh cackle came out of his mouth, causing her to jump into the air in fright. "Oh, I'll do whatever I damn well please, milady," he snarled. "Ghost or no, I've had my eye on you since I arrived. Your beauty rivals that of dear little Mary, and I want it all for _myself_!" He launched himself at her, receiving the mannequin in his arms as she shoved it at him. She scrambled around him to get to the door but he quickly threw himself at her and dug his fingernails into her waist. A scream ripped loose from her throat as she felt him bring her down. Thinking fast, she stabbed his arm with the scissors, a yowl of pain rising as he felt the miniature weapon dig into his skin.

"ERIK!" Angelique screamed. "ERIK-!"

"Shut up, or I'll kill you n-a_AHG_!" he choked as a silent lasso flew through the air and tightened over his neck. Two figures emerged from their hiding place in the corner by the secret entrance, both of them glaring at the perpetrator.

"Erik, Daroga," Angelique gasped in relief.

"Get her out of here," Erik demanded as he gave another sharp tug, watching Cutler's eyes bulge.

The Persian ran to Angelique and scooped her up at once, hurrying to the door when it burst open and two more figures entered.

"Angelique!" Philippe exclaimed, assisting the Persian as they took her outside into the hallway. "Are you-?"

"I'm fine, but Erik's-!" she protested as Raoul pushed past them. Looking over her shoulder, her eyes widened in fear as she watched Randall lunge towards Erik with a sudden burst of speed, his arms extended in the hopes of choking the one who held him captive. Raoul, however, was quicker, blocking the man and tossing him to the floor, starting to wrestle with him. "Let me in there-!"

"Are you _mad_?!" Nadir hissed, glancing towards the direction of the stage. "It's a miracle the rehearsal is still going on with all this racket! We can't have people see Erik in his mask!"

Within the workroom, the battle waged on as Raoul and Randall tumbled while grabbing each other's throats. Raoul began to grin as he saw that Randall was floundering now, desperate, when he caught his lips turning up in a hideous smile.

"BOY!" he heard Erik cry, soon followed by the sound of a strangled growl of pain as Erik's torso collided onto his back. With a powerful shove, Randall sent them falling back. Raoul shook his head as so to clear his mind when he noticed how Erik gripped at his shoulder. His eyes widened at the sight of the same scissors that Angelique had used moments ago to defend herself, now sticking out of Erik's back.

"Erik!" Angelique cried, restrained by the Persian. She was frantic, kicking and squirming in Nadir's grasp.

"Erik?" Raoul whispered, stunned that he had done such a thing. Just a few weeks ago, they were enemies, and now he came to his aide. Randall's sinister chuckle distracted him, however, causing his head to turn. His eyes widened at the sight of a pistol in the Englishman's hand.

"I'll turn you all into ghosts now so you can greet this Phantom of yours," he stated gleefully when a second click of another pistol earned their attention. Perplexed, Cutler whipped around and fired. An answering shot rung out almost exactly at the same time, causing him to scream in agony and tumble forth, catching sight of the open secret passage. Shakily, he aimed once more and shot, missing his targets due to his shaking arm. He ran into the darkness of the tunnels, leading him into the cellars of the _Garnier_ Opera House.

"Erik! Philippe! Raoul!" Angelique screamed, stomping on Nadir's foot at last.

"_Merde_!" he cursed, finally releasing her from his hold. "What force!" Glancing up as he winced, he asked, "_Monsieur le Comte_, are you-?"

"He missed twice at point blank," Philippe said, half-shaken from the ordeal and half-amused from the fact that the idiot had missed. "I'm all right." The two men hurried over and joined the others, now hovering around Erik.

"What's going on in here?!" Baron Henri de Castelot-Barbezac called out as he and Adrien rushed inside, their eyes widening at the sight. "_Mon Dieu_! What on earth-? Why is that man wearing a mask?"

"It's a long story, Henri," Adrien sighed, patting his new friend's shoulder. He shut the door after them, hoping that no one else would come to see what was going on. "Maestro?! Are you-?"

"I'm fine," Erik reassured them, hissing and biting his lip as Nadir tactfully removed the scissors from his back. "They didn't go in very deep, did they?"

"No, you're extremely lucky," Nadir frowned. "But they could have."

"Oh, Erik! This is all my fault!" Angelique wept, receiving a tender kiss from Erik on the forehead.

"No, _mon ange_, you did nothing wrong. You were brave and quick," he whispered to her.

"Nadir, I there is some cloth you could use to patch him up, and the pitcher there has clean water," Angelique said, trembling from fright. How she wanted to embrace him, but she was all too aware of the pain he was dealing with at the moment. Why didn't she just hold on to those stupid scissors?!

"Comte…why did you help me?" Erik asked suddenly, looking up at the man kneeling before him.

"For the same strange reason you decided to protect my little brother," Philippe answered firmly, bowing his head to him. "I see now that Angelique truly has changed you for the better…you are not the man you used to be."

Raoul nodded, bowing his head to Erik. "Christine was right about you…thank you, Erik."

Erik gawked at them, blinking in awe before looking away quickly, his throat tight and dry as he listened to them. "…you're welcome…thank you, also."

"Ah…would anyone mind filling me in on what exactly is going on here?"

Everyone's heads swiveled around to see the utterly confused Henri, whom they had forgotten about. Exchanging concerned glances, they all stumbled over their words until Angelique gave an exhausted sigh. "Adrien, tell him everything, won't you? He might as well know since he's here."

"And I'm afraid you'll be joining us once Erik is patched up," the Persian stated, leaving no room for questions. "We are going to have to go down below to find Randall before he hurts anyone else."

"Or gets into my house," Erik added.

"Very well," Adrien nodded, tugging the young Baron aside. "I think it's best if I just give you the abbreviated version for now…"


	27. The Little Things in Life

**A/N: **I just want to write out a little thank you to all my reviewers thus far... Any and all **anonymus guests, grapejuice101, Savannah White, Aria, PhantomWriter44, DeadAndLovely, Geezworld234, O.G., Cereza101, E-man-dy-S, Filhound, RedDeathLvr, ChocolatyMinds, TendernessOfTheHeart, kittykat4thewin, Lycoris1305, chaz1997, lbjw0128, vmall17, lunerusso, michellecarriveau, emerald silverton, DreamaLirit, some phantom fan, Unknown,** and **Lydia the tygeropean**, thank you all so much for leaving your thoughts behind as to what you thought of the story thus far :) You have my eternal gratitude!

I own nothing of "Phantom of the Opera", "Phantom" (those are owned by Leroux and Kay, respectively). Please, as always, let me know what you thought of the chapter and I will see you all next time!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Seven – The Little Things in Life **

"How far do you suppose he got?" Raoul asked as they trekked deeper into the cellars, having lost sight of any signs of the scoundrel. They had followed a trail of blood until it got lost in the midst of a particular corridor ridden with an assortment of trapdoors that Erik had placed years ago. Erik had helped them find another way through, but now they were uncertain as to which trapdoor Cutler might have fallen through.

"It couldn't have been that far, not with all these traps untouched," Erik informed them, using his good arm to raise the lantern into air to get a better look.

"There!" Henri pointed, catching sight of a stain near one particular opening. "Do you see it?"

The six men squinted at the spot, nodding as they each saw it and acknowledged it as blood. "Erik, where does this one lead to…? Erik?" Philippe asked, raising an eyebrow as he saw Erik's eyes widen.

"Oh…I know where he is." Turning on his heel, he motioned for them to follow. "This way!"

"What is it, Maestro?" asked Adrien as he hurried to his teacher's side.

"Erik, that looked like-" the Daroga started.

"It is. Erik hopes he didn't get into the house," the Phantom confessed as he led them through an intricate series of passages and darkened hallways dimly lit by torches, some left in obscurity and infested with rats.

"_Pardon_, but just what do you mean by that?" Henri asked, cocking his head at their strange conversation.

"Wait! Daroga, wasn't that the tunnel we used to find Erik's home last time?" Raoul asked, the memory flashing before his very eyes. "That's the tunnel that led to…to-!"

"_The torture chamber_!" Erik, Raoul, and Nadir all said at once, causing Philippe, Adrien, and Henri to pale at the news.

"You don't suppose-?" Adrien asked.

"Hurry," Nadir urged them. "Though I fear we may be too late to stop him now."

They ran after Erik in silence, each one of them thinking the same thing: "Is he dead? Or must we kill him together?" Really, there was no other way to get around it. Each one of them feared for their beloveds, and if they did managed to stun Randall Cutler long enough to capture him and hand him to the police, there would be questions…and he _would_ find a way to escape. Adelshire had warned them about him – when he wanted something, he wouldn't stop. No one wanted to be a murderer, but when the safety and lives of their loved ones, as well as those in the opera, was at stake, they had all agreed they would work together to put an end to this nightmare.

"_Strange,"_ thought Erik, as they got into the boat and rowed faster than they had even done so before. _"A month ago, had these men been given the chance, it would have be_ me _they would be hunting down…how the tide has changed."_ Leaping onto the bank, he checked the area with his glowing eyes, making sure there would be no attack from behind. "Come," he whispered. "Be silent."

Unlocking the door, he listened carefully before opening his home to the others. Peeking inside, he motioned for them to follow him, all five men behind him on their guard and armed. Erik immediately went for the wall of the Louis-Philippe room, peeking through the slot.

"He's not here," Raoul whispered to the others as he returned from the drawing room.

"Nor here," Adrien and Henri shook their heads.

"He's not down the hall, or in any of the other rooms," Philippe added.

Nadir stood still, watching as Erik pulled away from the wall, casually fixing his tie. "Erik. Did he…?"

"He did," Erik answered coolly, allowing his voice to rise above a whisper. "Have a look." He held back a breath of relief as he remembered he had left his new pet with the Jouberts. He couldn't imagine what he would have done if the puppy made his way into the room, or if Randall had gotten his hands on him.

They all crowded around the little slot, each one taking their turn. They each left it feeling repulsed and strangely relieved. There he was, hanging from the iron gibbet within the "jungle" Erik had created.

"It's over…he's gone for good," breathed Philippe, placing his hand over his heart.

"Yes…now, how are we going to explain this to Rupert?" Erik asked, stroking his chin in thought.

"How about the truth, Erik?" the Persian frowned. "No more stories or lies. Just the truth. He has already accepted that you are the Phantom of the Opera, you may as well explain this to him."

"Oh, very well," Erik shook his head as he waved him off.

"Oddly enough, I can't say I feel sorry for the monster," Raoul muttered, earning a dirty look from Erik. "Not _you_, I mean _him_!" he pointed to the wall, exasperated.

"That room is…extraordinary!...and gruesome," Henri commented, glancing back at the slot and grimacing. "Rather creative."

"Thank you…now, if you'll excuse me a moment, I'm off to get rid of the body," Erik announced, heading for his room. "Shouldn't be away too long."

"Why does his nonchalant manner of dealing with carcasses give me the willies?" Raoul asked.

"Never mind that," Adrien shook his head. "At least now we can all breathe a little easier…right?"

**~OG~**

For those that were not performing in _Don Juan Triumphant_, they certainly could breathe easier. For those who _were_ involved…they still had three full weeks of grueling practice ahead of them. Erik proved to be meticulous, as both manager and Opera Ghost, striving to make this the most incredible performance in all existence. His mind raced and never stopped considering all possibilities and outcomes, often causing him to go on for days without sleep.

"Erik, I wish you would get some rest," Angelique pleaded as he finished a lesson with her in their home under the opera.

"Erik cannot rest until _Don Juan Triumphant_ is finally performed," he repeated, the phrase becoming a mantra to him. "Then, Erik will sleep like the dead."

"Please don't say that," she frowned.

"It is an expression, _mon ange_. Erik would not dare to consider death, not when he finally has everything – or nearly everything – he has dreamed of," he promised her with a weary smile, stroking the puppy's ears as the feisty canine pawed at his leg. "Erik just needs a moment…" He walked into his room, mumbling something to himself about flowers in the foyer, the door moving as if to shut, though it did not make it all the way.

Gathering Paien in her arms, Angelique coddled the pup. "You're getting to be as stubborn as your new Papa, Paien," she smirked, accepting a wet kiss on her lips from their "baby". It was her idea, calling Paien the "baby", and while Erik fought it at first, he found the idea endearing and soon called himself the dog's 'Papa' while she became his 'Mama'. "Come, little Paien, it's time for supper," she cooed, carrying the complacent "child" off towards the kitchen.

After she had fed Paien and herself, she returned to the drawing room, her brows furrowed when she did not see Erik. _"He couldn't have left, could he?"_ She walked towards his room, the puppy following her happily as she stepped inside the mausoleum-like quarters. She smiled as she saw him slumped on his desk, his quill still in his hand. She tiptoed to the coffin bed, grabbing the blanket when she heard the puppy playfully growling. "Paien!" scolded him in a whisper. "Stop that!"

It was too late. The puppy, having grabbed hold of Erik's trousers with his teeth, tugged playfully on it, thus stirring Erik out of his slumber. "Mhm…Paien, you little devil," Erik chuckled sleepily, abandoning his work and picking the dog up in his arms.

"Erik, go to sleep, won't you?" she pleaded, wrapping the blanket around him. "Please? For me? For yourself?"

He grumbled, still much too stubborn, when an idea flared into her mind. "Erik, the puppy's still anxious in the dark…what if he slept in my room?"

"Fine," he waved it off.

"But he likes being with you. Erik…why don't you change and we can all snuggle together in my bed?"

His head snapped up, his mind suddenly alert as she made the suggestion.

"For Paien?" she asked, batting her eyelashes at him.

"You little minx," he murmured, a sly smile on his face. Heaving a sigh of defeat, he took his mask off and nodded. "Very well…I'll just be a moment." He gave her the dog before unbuttoning his jacket, watching her exit the room. He knew she was teasing him – they had both come to an agreement that there was to be no affair between them, but she loved to be close to him as much as possible, and though he couldn't fathom how on Heaven or Earth anyone would want to feel his skin against theirs, he did not protest. With the puppy, they had found an excuse to lie together just to enjoy each other's presence, and Erik found that he had been able to fall asleep much more easily, which pleased and irritated him all at once. There were so many things to do, and yet he couldn't refuse her a few moments rest, especially if she wanted to be there with him. There was nothing sexual – though the fierce, tempting thoughts had crossed his mind more than once – and he didn't mind it. She trusted him, and he trusted himself to be strong…most of the time. He was beginning to dream of the day when he could really call her his own, to see her waiting for him in a private room, to hold hands in public, to take her out on Sundays, to see a ring on her finger and knowing she wore it proudly-

"A ring!" he thought, the words echoing in his mind as they did in his room. "I need to get her a ring…" _"Once Don Juan is performed, once I am announced as the official manager, I shall ask her…"_ The plan was sound and simple, but his stomach was assaulted with butterflies. While their courtship was short, he knew that many an arranged marriage took place in one night, the couple not knowing one thing about the other. Angelique and Erik were certainly not strangers to one another – they were madly in love (at least, he knew _he_ was), and though they had the occasional spat (such as time he suggested to leave up the torture room after what had happened with Randall, or when she snapped at him for rearranging a pattern she had hoped to use for one of the main costumes), they still loved each other at the end of the day. He felt as if he had known her a lifetime, and he wanted to be with her for the rest of his days.

Finally set in his sleeping shirt and trousers, he threw his robe on and walked for her room, his eyelids heavy with sleep. Knocking lightly on the door, he heard her response and opened it, a tired smile growing on his unmasked face as he saw her beneath the covers, humming sweetly to the now drowsy puppy.

"Your voice improves each and every day," he yawned, lying atop the comforter of the bed.

"I have the best teacher in the world," she smiled, reaching over and touching his face.

He covered her hand with his, bringing it over to kiss her palm. "_Mon ange_…you are everything to me."

"As you are for me," she whispered, resting against his chest as tiny Paien rested on his back and closed his eyes, giving a contented sigh. "I love you, Erik."

"Not as much as I love you, Angelique," he said, finally letting the waves of drowsiness overtake him as he remained with his little family.

**~OG~**

Madame Giry fixed her bonnet as she checked another of the boxes, nodding her head as she inspected each aspect of the seats. She was awfully busy these days, catering to the needs of the ballet mistress as her assistant had fallen ill from hay fever, as well as checking on small renovations made in the boxes of the opera house. Still, she was happy as she worked, glad that she was needed and not just seen as some wild old woman who believed and worked for a ghost. The manager himself, though she had never met him in person, had sent notes to her in which he had other tasks for her to complete, such as running errands or even assisting Angelique whenever she was working on costumes. She had inspected the note thoroughly, the man's writing nearly identical to the Phantom's. _"Could it be that Monsieur Chevalier is…? Ha! I truly_ am _getting old,"_ she shook her head with a little smile. _"That is quite impossible-"_

"Mgh!" someone grunted as she bumped against him, off in her own little world as she moved towards Box Five. The cloaked man was leaving the manager's office, a box falling from his hand and onto the wine-hued carpeted floor.

"Ah! _Pardon, monsieur_!" she pleaded, kneeling down at once to grab the small parcel. "Please forgive an old, senile woman-"

"Nonsense," the man chuckled, the voice sending goosebumps down her spine as she heard him speak. It was _his_ voice…but it couldn't be! "Madame thinks too little of herself…allow me."

Turning her head, she found herself staring at a strange man, one she had only vaguely caught glimpses of. He was often seen with the Persian or even Angelique before he mysteriously vanished. He had an angular, but otherwise normal, face, though there was something stiff about his nose and his eyes appeared to burn like golden flames in the shadows. His long, thin, gloved hand took the box from the floor before his arm moved towards her, holding the small turquoise parcel aloft in the air before her. It was not until this moment that she actually scrutinized the box, a gasp of wonder escaping her as she saw it was a box of English toffees, the very same that her employer, the Opera Ghost, would offer her every so often as a small token of gratitude.

"Oh…oh my!" she breathed. "Are you-?"

"Erik Chevalier, new manager of the _Palais Garnier_," he introduced himself with a flourish of his hand, offering it to her afterwards to get the old woman back onto her feet. "At your service, Madame Giry."

"Y-You know my name?" she blinked, stupefied.

"I know the names of all who live and work in this place," he chuckled. "Ah, I was told to give you this." He offered the box once more to her, watching her take it with shaking hands.

"W-Wh-Who told y-you to give th-these to me?" she stammered, unable to believe what was happening.

"The Opera Ghost," Erik answered, bowing his head to her. "He was rather adamant that you receive this small token of his appreciation for all your years of service to him."

"H-He…he found my little Meg a suitor," she said, her eyes watching him with fierce intensity. "Sh-She will be an _empress_!"

"Of sorts," he smiled wryly. "She appears to be happy with my young friend, Henri."

"Friend…? Yes…yes, she is," she nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "Very happy…Mon Dieu."

"You look as if you'd seen a ghost, _Madame_," he said coolly, ushering her forth towards Box Five. "Perhaps you need a rest."

"I…I cannot," she shook her head vehemently, though she accepted his arm as he brought her into the mysterious Box Five and helped her sit down. "I still have so much to do, so much to be done! He would not be pleased to see me stopping now."

"Stopping what?" he asked, patting her shoulder comfortingly.

"My work…I work for _him_, _monsieur_," she answered firmly, though she quivered as she realized who he was.

"Him?" Chevalier's voice was distant now, almost as if he were on the other side of the room.

"The Phantom, _monsieur_," she whispered. "I shall not stop working for him."

"I am most delighted to hear that, Madame Juliette," the voice echoed around her, causing her to jump up from her seat and spin around in shock. Erik Chevalier had vanished from sight, but his voice remained within the box, and his voice was the same she had been hearing since she began working at that fine establishment. "I had hoped you would say that. Consider the sweets a small 'thank you' for all your hard, fine work…you shall continue to be rewarded should you wish to continue serving in any way possible."

She bobbed her head to signal the affirmative, a proud smile growing on her lips. "Always, monsieur. You may count upon me…I shall never falter, and I shan't share this secret with anyone."

"I knew you would. Thank you, Madame Giry. That is all for today…until we meet again."

She remained standing, her fingers curling tightly around the elegant box of toffees as she listened to the silence around her, knowing that he had already left. Her smile remained on her face as she allowed herself to pop one of the treats into her mouth before stuffing the box into her basket and bobbing a curtsy to no one in particular. Readjusting her shawl, she left Box Five with a little spring in her step, whistling merrily as she walked along.

**~OG~**

"I never thought I would live to see this day," Nadir commented as he watched Erik with wide eyes. "I must be dead, or dreaming."

"Oh, do be quiet, won't you?" Erik frowned, sending him a dirty look over his shoulder before returning his gaze to the sparkling gems before him. "I'm concentrating."

"It's a wedding band, Erik, not an explosive chemical," Raoul rolled his eyes. "Really, one would think you were observing a cobra."

Erik bit his fake, second lip before grumbling, "Remind me why I had to go ring shopping with you two dolts."

"Because Philippe is occupied with Lord Adelshire at the moment, Adrien and Henri are back at the opera house, and if you asked one of Angelique's lovely friends, even my dear Christine, they would immediately squeal about this to her, whether they planned to or not," Raoul informed him, counting off the reasons on his gloved fingers.

"Oh, _merde_," Erik cursed, shaking his head. "Yes, because taking you both with me is such a brilliant idea. Daroga knows nothing of these sorts of things-"

"I beg to differ," the Persian frowned.

"And _you_ were raised with a silver spoon in your mouth, so of course you know all about diamonds and rubies," Erik rolled his eyes, ignoring Nadir's outburst. His eyes were suddenly distracted by a small, simple band made of gold, the ends curling outward as they met, appearing like two yellow leaves. A single diamond lay at its center, not too big, not to small, glittering in the dying light of day.

"I see you've found something," Raoul said softly, smiling as he saw Erik's child-like wonder in his strange, haunting eyes. He motioned for the store owner to hustle over, taking a glance at the ring himself. "It's a fine choice, Erik."

Nadir nodded as he joined them, picturing Angelique's look of utter surprise and delight when Erik would reveal the ring to her. He couldn't help but cast Erik a smile, gripping his good shoulder – he _was_ still recovering from the Cutler incident, after all – and saying, "Well done, my friend."

"How may I help you?" the man asked, beaming as Erik gently tapped the glass, pointing at his choice. "Ah! Your lady will love it, _monsieur_. Would you perhaps like an inscription inside? It could be arranged for a small fee."

"Yes," Erik said, accepting the paper and pencil in a trance when they were offered to him. He scribbled the message down quickly and asked, "Might I hold it? Just for a moment…?" He waited until the gentleman handed him the trinket, his fingers trembling as he imagined slipping this little band onto her finger, seeing her eyes light up and fill with tears all at once. "It's perfect."

Minutes later, the strange trio exited the store, making their way towards the Archambault home for supper, much to Erik's annoyance. He patted his vest pocket for the fifth time since they left, his heart thumping wildly within his chest.

"Oh come now, Erik, I must drop by to pick up Christine anyways," Raoul pouted. "I don't see why I can't stay for supper."

"Because you're an irritating fop, and just because I helped you does _not_ mean I like you, and even though you may have a good reason to come, Erik does not comprehend why the _both_ of you are so damn insistent on entering my second home!" he snapped, their stubborn determination grating on his nerves.

"As I said, I need to pick up Christine," the Vicomte sniffed. "You know all the girls are gathered here for some little tea party your Angelique threw."

"I am hungry," the Persian stated flatly, as if that was all the reason he needed to enter the house. "Besides, it is not legally your home _yet_, it's Angelique's. She likes having us over at any rate."

Erik grumbled, knowing he could fight the truth. It was Angelique's home, and she invited all those she cares for, and those who cared for her in turn. Still, they were awfully stubborn today…Slipping the key into the door, he unlocked it with a flick of his wrist before twisting the handle and ushering his guests inside. He frowned as he noticed how dark it was indoors, calling out to the household before shutting the door after him. "Angelique? Lamar? Adrien? Fanette? Paien?"

Suddenly, the room burst to life with light, blinding him for a moment as several figures popped out from behind the furniture of the drawing room, tossing flower petals into the air. "Surprise!" they all exclaimed, grinning as gleefully as children. "Congratulations, Erik!"


	28. Victorious Are We

**Chapter Twenty-Eight – Victorious Are We**

Erik stared wide-eyed at the ensemble, frozen in shock. There was a rather large group at this surprise gathering…the Jouberts, the Adelshires, the de Chagnys, Baron de Castelot-Barbezac, the Girys, La Sorelli and Rebecca Anderson, little Paien, and at last, Angelique, who stepped forth from the group with a single red rose in her hands, offering it to Erik.  
"What…what is all this?" he gasped, staring at her in disbelief as his shaking hands took the flower.

"It's an early celebration, Erik…_Don Juan Triumphant_ takes place next week and the part comes afterwards, so I thought it made perfect sense to have an early party with the people who care about you most, here in our home," she explained, caressing his skin-like mask with her fingertips. "I asked Nadir and Raoul to keep you occupied for the past few hours so that we could get this ready when you got home. I made up that story about the tea party to have an excuse to bring the girls here."

"And it worked!" Becca laughed, clapping her hands in delight. "You should have seen the look on your face!"

"You…helped?" Erik asked Raoul and Nadir, dumbfounded by the news.

They nodded, smug. "Putting up with your insults was worth seeing the look on your face when everyone jumped out," Raoul chuckled.

"I…but how did you…and when…?!" Erik choked, much to the group's amusement.

"I had this planned and ready by last week, Erik," Angelique winked coyly. "I, too, can be full of surprises, you know."

"I figured that out the first day we met," he muttered, a smile growing on his lips. Looking back at the masses, he felt his eyes water as he realized how many people had come to care about him and trust him over the past month. "I…I'm not sure what to say, expect…thank you." He bent down, picking up the hyperactive puppy that craved his attention. He caressed the dog's silky back, accepting the wet kisses from the innocent canine as he stared at the masses with teary eyes. "Thank you…" He remained in his dazed state as Angelique turned his head so that she might kiss him before the group, earning the applause of everyone in the room. The two of them blush while Paien yipped at them, his pink tongue lolling out of his open, smiling mouth.

"Well, let's all move into the dining room, dearies!" Fanette chirped, waving at them to follow her as she opened the doors. "Supper will get cold if we stay out here any longer. Come along now!"

The people did as they were told, each one of them congratulating Erik as they entered the vast room. He nodded silently to each person, his hand squeezing Angelique's as he watched them all go in. "…you did this for me?"

"I wish I could have done more," she said softly, her fingers lightly grasping the locket he had given her. "Erik, you've affected our lives in such wonderful ways, and you have such a huge heart that could contain the world…isn't it time that you start receiving love to fill that empty, battered heart of yours?"

He pulled her into an embrace, his throat tight and dry as he tired to speak. "Erik has…that is, _I_ have been alone for so long, avoiding the world's scorn…and to receive all this…_mon ange_, what would I do without?!"

"Erik," she cooed, rubbing his back soothingly. "It's all right…I love you."

"And I love you," he whispered, kissing her cheek tenderly. He gave her another tight squeeze before offering his arm and regaining his composure. "Come, we can't keep them waiting, can we?"

"No," she giggled, taking Paien from Erik's arms and placing him onto the floor before linking her arm with his. "Erik? What was that bulge in your chest? Did you go shopping?"

"Ah, that is a new vial of red ink, dearest," he lied quickly, a bright smile on his artificial face appearing. "I had to stop by the store before we came home…is that chocolate I smell?"

She grinned, saying it was a surprise before allowing him to help her into her seat. He contained a breath of relief, patting the ring's box within his vest pocket before buttoning his jacket completely. It wasn't time just yet…this had to wait.

**~OG~**

_One Week Later…_

"Ten minutes!" one of the stagehands shouted, the announcement being repeated soon afterwards by the others, sending the ballerinas into a frenzy of giggles and shrieks. Erik prowled the area, wearing his skin mask and loving every moment of it. He could now stalk the opera out in the open without drawing attention…it was officially his now, and he had a face to do the job. His stomach was in a knot, but his heart and pride soared higher than any bird had ever flown – tonight, they would perform his magnum opus, and at the retirement party that was to take place afterwards for those two fools, he would be made known to all of Paris…

"_Monsieur_!" one of the sceneshifters, a lad of fourteen, nearly crashed into Erik, his eyes large as he fixed his cap. "Monsieur Chevalier! Monsieur Joubert is asking for you – it's urgent!"

His brows furrowing, he nodded his consent, following the boy to the dressing rooms. He knocked, startled to find the door swing open and see Adrien's frantic face. "Adrien-?"

"_Maestro_, we have a problem!" Adrien gasped, grabbing his arm and yanking him inside, the little sceneshifter following in hot pursuit. The child shut the door after them while Erik stepped forth, his eyes widening at the sight of their main singer lying on the divan, coughing and gasping for breath.

"What in Heaven's name-?!" he started.

"I think he has some allergy," Adrien suggested. "Ulrich was fine this afternoon, but we all had a small celebration in the back – you remember, don't you? – and he mentioned afterwards he was feeling a bit off, and now when I came to visit, I found him like this!"

"What did he drink?" Erik demanded to know. Spinning around, he pointed at the startled boy. "Berlioz!"

The boy froze, gawking at him in awe. "Y-You know my name-?"

"I know everyone's name, Berlioz. Listen to me – you'll earn yourself ten francs if you get the doctor in here in five minutes," Erik instructed him. "You should be able to find him in the manager's office with Lord Adelshire, understood?"

"_Oui_!" he nodded, taking off without another word.

Returning his attention to Ulrich, he studied the man as he stroked his chin in thought. "Do you know what he drank?"

"I think some wine…we didn't have much, it was just a small toast," Adrien said honestly as he thought back to the events of that afternoon. His brows furrowed suddenly, and then his eyes widened. "Oh no."

"'Oh no' what?" Erik asked, grabbing his protégé's shoulders. "Tell me!"

"I think…he must have drunk from Jaq's cup…you know, Jaq the stagehand? He had said he was getting over a cold…they were next to each other for a moment, but…"

Erik swiveled around, grabbing the ill singer's arm. "Did you drink from that man's cup?" he demanded, his eyes on fire. When Ulrich nodded, wincing in pain as he began to cough and sneeze uncontrollably, Erik and Adrien jumped back. "There's nothing more we can do for him…the doctor will have to care for him once her arrives-"

"I found him, monsieur!" Berlioz cried out, the door swinging open violently. "I found him!"

The middle-aged man stepped inside and instantly honed in on his patient, urging the others to go. "No need for the others to catch this," he muttered to himself.

"Well done, my boy," Erik praised the child, slipping his hand into his pocket and handing the money over. "This stays between the three of us, understood?"

"Yes, sir!" the boy cheerfully tipped his hat to the man before running away to get back to work.

Adrien shook his head, scratching the back of his neck. "What do we do now, Maestro? Ulrich's understudy is also ill, but we didn't have a need for him until now!"

"There must be _someone_," Erik growled, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced the floor. "There has to be someone who is familiar with the words, sings adequately, and fits into the costumes-!"

"Maestro," Adrien gasped, stopping Erik as he placed his hand on his shoulder. His eyes glistened mischievously as he said, "I know who it has to be."

"Who?" Erik asked, raising an eyebrow at his pupil.

"Obviously, it must be you."

"M-_Me_?!" Erik stammered, taking a step back. "But I-"

"Five minutes to curtain!" the stagehands called out to the performers, causing Erik to wince. He glanced back at Ulrich's door, imagining himself in the costumes Angelique had created, being up on stage with her, displaying his voice for the world to hear…

A slow, wicked grin grew on his face, his eyes flashing with the same mischief that Adrien has shown. "You go on ahead, Adrien. I need to get the costumes from Ulrich."

**~OG~**

Adelshire kissed Mary chastely on the cheek before waving her off, allowing her to scurry after Christine Daae de Chagny to their own private box for the performance. He couldn't stop smiling, his excitement making him so jittery that he had to take several sips of wine back at the manager's office. He strolled down the halls of the opera, knocking on the door of Box Four and waiting for a response.

"Come in," a voice answered. He stepped inside and shut the door after him, beaming as he shook hands with Moncharmin and Richard. "Hello old friends, I take it your trip went well?"

"Splendid!" Richard gushed, gazing off dreamily at a wall. "Vienna was lovely…"

"We found a lovely chateau on the outskirts of this little town," Moncharmin informed him. "It really was perfect. It is good to be back, though."

"Oh yes, just wonderful," Richard grimaced.

Adelshire chuckled, amused at the two men. "Well, let's have a seat, shall we? The orchestra's already starting."

A hush came over the crowd as they sat down, but Adelshire continued to check behind him, his brows furrowed. "Odd…" he muttered.

"What is?" Moncharmin asked, flipping through his programme.

"Nothing, it's just…well, the new manager, he was supposed to be here. I was going to introduce you to him, but-"

"Ladies and gentlemen!" called out a voice, earning their attention at once. Leaning towards the balcony, they squinted to see Monsieur Mercier, the acting manager and Remy the secretary standing upon the stage with the closed curtains behind them. "Due to unforeseen circumstances, Monsieur Ulrich Guttenburg has fallen ill and cannot partake in the performance."

There was a murmur and soft grumble that rolled through the vast auditorium, like an unhappy wave that sloshed precariously over the people. Moncharmin and Richard paled at this, sending Adelshire a look of horror. "That blasted specter is ready to ruin the farewell performace!" Richard squeaked.

"The role of Don Juan will be performed by Monsieur Erik Chevalier," the shaking secretary announced, looking about as frightened as a hunted rabbit. The discontented murmurs soon changed into whispers of surprise and curiosity as many recognized the name of the new manager.

Once more, Adelshire received incredulous looks from both managers, who gaped at him with giant eyes. "Your new _manager_ is the main lead?!" Richard asked, his jaw dropping. "What is this absurdity-?!"

"Just give it a chance, _mon ami_," Adelshire smirked, leaning back in his seat. "I think you will be pleasantly surprised."

The orchestra took its cue, starting out soft and sweet as the curtains pulled away to reveal a tiny, rustic home in which a woman gave birth to a son…when suddenly, she saw his face and screeched. The music burst out of the pit, pulsing angrily through the air, startling everyone.

"_Monster!"_ the "mother" cried out in song, covering her eyes as the "midwife" forcefully placed the bundle in her arms. _"What a monster! My God, what horror have you cursed upon me?!"_

The stage darkened and thus the story began many years later, according to the programme, in the elegant home of a man known as "Don Juan" to the people of the town. "G-Goodness," Richard gasped, fanning himself with the paper in his hands. "That was rather…intense."

"Remarkable," Moncharmin nodded. "What a way to grab the audience's attention. Just look at them." He motioned with his head at the masses below, seeing how the women placed their hands over their hearts, the men murmuring to one another before leaning forward, as if to get a better look.

The story moved on, with an array of marvelous characters and gorgeous, heart-wrenching music. Among the actors were Rebecca Anderson, playing the role of the beautiful Adalia, with whom Don Juan had fallen madly in love with; there was also young Adrien Joubert in his debut role as Adalia's lover, Don Percival. The two had magnificent voices that twirled and intertwined in the air, sending the women into such a blissful state that they would grab onto their husbands' arms and coddle with them. One of the most intriguing of all the performers was the girl who played Isabel, Adalia's personal servant.

"Wait a moment…why, that's Angelique Archambault!" Moncharmin smiled. "She's wonderful!"

"_What_?!" Richard gaped, his eyes widening to the size of saucers. "That _can't_ be-!"

Isabel sang innocently of what it might be like to be in love, curious about this Don Juan that left bountiful gifts for her mistress until she finally found him in the next scene, a great ball taking place when a magnificent figure decked in black and gold entered, stunning everyone, actors and audience alike. The two managers tensed upon seeing him, sensing a familiar, ominous aura emanating from his presence. Adelshire said nothing, partially because he wanted to watch them sweat, partially because he was quite enthralled watching the opera come to life.

An instant connection is made between the servant and eccentric nobleman, first starting out as an uneasy alliance that resulted in her assisting him to woo Adalia. Occasionally, bits of his past – his bloody, horrifying, painful past – were told to the kind yet stubborn Isabel as she became a confidant…until a man from her past came to torment her. The tormenter assaulted Isabel, and try as she might, she could not escape him…until Don Juan stepped forth and killed him, in the process losing his mask. Adelshire grinned at the makeup that had been done on Erik's face, which he assumed to be another of his clever masks. It looked very much like a Death's head with no nose…unless…His brows furrowed, his eyes widening as he realized that this face, coated in skin-hued makeup with a fake nose added onto his face, was his true form. Everyone gawked and found it awesome, clapping and gasping at the reveal. They were quite entertained and clueless as to the true story behind this opera, or his face.

"How grotesque!" Richard gagged, covering his mouth at once.

"Impressive makeup," Moncharmin nodded. "Poor man…the 'Don Juan' character, I mean. How terrible it must have been for him."

"Indeed," Adelshire nodded, his heart aching for Erik. He understood now…he understood, and wished he had known sooner.

Isabel, though frightened by him, gave him his mask and vowed to be loyal to him for saving her life. It was at this point, when a friendship between them bloomed, that Don Juan fought to sort out his feelings for Adalia and Isabel. The show went on, displaying the heartache that Isabel felt as she fell deeper in love with the strange man, while Adalia refused to see him and yearned for Percival's affection. As Don Juan and Don Percival fought over Adalia towards the end of the third act, everyone was on the edge of their seats, gaping in awe at the display. Suddenly, as Don Juan began to lose his footing, Isabel stepped in front of him, spreading her arms out as though she were a shield, nearly getting stabbed by Percival.

"_Leave him be! _

_Kill me if you must – _

_It's not infatuation, _

_No, not even lust!_

_I love him,_

_Oh God, how I love him!"_

Isabel fell to her knees, weeping as she thought she would die of a broken heart, her love unrequited, when Don Juan grabbed her by her shoulders and took her in his arms. He begged her to tell him it was true, to prove it, so she kissed him. The women in the audience sighed and swooned while the men chuckled or watched on in approval. The scene was passionate and tender, tears being shed as Don Juan begged for forgiveness when he suddenly stopped, reaching for his mask as he felt that something wasn't right. Pulling it off, he showed his face once more. The audience gasped and wept in wonder and glee as he displayed a normal, somewhat handsome looking face.

"_There you are, Erik,"_ Lord Adelshire smiled, wishing he could stretch his hand out and touch him. "That is what you look like inside now, what we all see you as." Isabel kissed her Don Juan once more before he wrapped his cloak around her and carried her off, wishing Adalia and Percival well before taking his Isabel off into the sunset, promising to change for the better as the curtain fell down.

Even before the curtain fully closed and the powerful crescendo of the orchestra had died out, the people were up on their feet, applauding as though their lives depended upon it. They were crying, whistling, cheering, begging for an encore, but best of all, they were smiling. Moncharmin leapt to his feet and clapped madly, beaming as the curtain opened once more for the cast to take a final bow. "Beautiful! Astounding! This was…_perfection_!"

Richard was flabbergasted and weeping in his seat until Moncharmin and Adelshire helped him up. He blubbered like a child, wiping his face with his handkerchief as he nodded his agreement. For once, he was at a loss for words.

Adrien and Becca received generous amounts of praise when they stepped out together, waving to their friends in Boxes Four and Ten. They soon stepped aside and made way for the last two figures, grinning as they joined their cast members and the audience in clapping for the stars. Angelique and Erik stepped out with their arms linked, each taking their turn to bow. At the insistence of the crowd, Erik slipped off his mask to reveal his face – his skin mask, of course – and bowed once more, a bewildered yet charming smile gracing his features as he looked out amongst the people. His eyes widened as Angelique kissed his cheek before the masses, earning cries and shouts of excitement. With a sly grin, he took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly before motioning for the rest of the cast to step forth to bow as a whole. After motioning to the conductor, the orchestra, and the stagehands and sceneshifters behind them, the group stepped back and allowed the curtain to fall once again.

"Now _that_ was a farewell performance," Moncharmin sighed. "That Chevalier fellow…he's certainly something else."

"Yes," Adelshire whispered, his own eyes tearing up. "He certainly is."

**~OG~**

"Here he is!" Adelshire grinned as he caught sight of the dark, shadowy figure that appeared to be dragged in by his costar. "Everyone, I have an announcement to make!"

"Angelique, I can't," Erik protested in a whisper, suddenly timid and wary of all the attention he was receiving.

"Erik," she said gently, still tugging at his arm. "This is _your_ moment, _mon cher_…please."

He bit his tongue, letting her help him into the light of the banquet hall, where everyone applauded the moment he stepped foot inside. His lips twitched into an awkward smile as his mind wondered when someone would see past the farce and point at him screaming, "Monster!" No one did so, however, and as he moved with Angelique until they arrived at the center of the room where Adelshire and the managers waited, he began to feel much more comfortable in his own skin.

"Everyone, may I have your attention please?" Lord Rupert Adelshire called out, motioning with his one free hand for the masses to lower their ecstatic chatter to a minimum, his other hand holding a glass full of champagne. "Thank you. As you are all familiar with from the rumors you've heard, Monsieurs Richard and Moncharmin will be retiring and moving to Vienna." He paused, allowing the information to sink in before continuing. "However, as I am already certain you have heard, I did hire a new manager, and you have had the pleasure and privilege of seeing and hearing him perform tonight in the title role of _Don Juan Triumphant_. Erik? Come here, please." Erik did as he was told, catching sight of Angelique's motion to stand straight. He did so, raising his head at last in confidence as he looked out at the people. "I should like to introduce our elusive and brilliant new manager, _and_ co-owner, Erik Chevalier!"

Erik's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he heard the word "co-owner" leave Adelshire's mouth. His head snapped towards the old man while the room was filled with more thunderous applause. "C-Co-…_owner_?!" he choked.

"Ah yes," Adelshire nodded, snatching another flask of champagne and offering it to him. "I had wanted to tell you last week, but I thought I would surprise you instead. Of course, you'll have to sign the contract and-"

"But, _why_?" Erik asked, his voice soft and pleading, reminding Adelshire of a humble little boy who had just received an award.

"Because you deserve it, Erik…and I am not as young as I used to be," he said gently, a sad smile growing on his lips. Placing his hands on Erik's thin shoulders, he said aloud, "If God had granted me a son, Erik Chevalier, I wish it would have been you…I am honored to know you, and most delighted to have you as a partner." Slipping his hands off, he offered one to Erik waiting for a response. He watched, exhilarated, as Erik's quaking hand rose and gripped his, shaking it feverishly, almost as if for support.

"Thank you…thank you!" Erik breathed, accepting the old man's embrace as the people began to cheer and offer toasts.

"Here, here!" they called out, clinking their glasses and congratulating him on his victories, smiling and laughing in mirth. Glancing back, Erik felt his heart soar as Angelique beamed at him, her stormy-hued eyes glistening with bliss. He beckoned her to come to him, his arms opening wide for her. She rushed at once, crushing her decadently dressed body against his. He held her to him, not caring what anyone thought at the moment. She wore a light perfume, _Rose à l'Aube_, a gift from Christine, which only served to intoxicate him as he curled his gloved fingers into her shining auburn locks that she had left alone, cascading down her shoulders and framing her face. She wore one of the fine dresses he had bought for her, a rich crimson gown that hugged her waist and billowed around her, her shoulders just barely covered with a sheer, shimmering tulle fabric. She was breathtaking innocence, wrapped in delicious temptation, and she was his.

"_A gentleman…you are a_ gentleman _now, Erik, in everyone's eyes, not just hers, nor your own,"_ he reminded himself, realizing that the step was most likely too forward, especially in a public setting. _"But what should it matter? She is mine, she loves Erik…"_ He sighed, gently pulling away from her. _"No…it shall be done properly…she at least deserves that much." _

"_Monsieur_, I just wanted to wish you congratulations!" Moncharmin beamed, walking up to Erik and offering his hand, completely clueless that he was about to shake hands with "the Ghost". "Everything that you've done with the _Garnier_…I simply can't put it into words!"

"You are too kind, Monsieur Moncharmin," he answered crisply, a cool smile on his lips.

"Comtesse Archambault," Moncharmin added warmly, kissing her hand. "It's lovely to see you again."

"Likewise," she smiled brightly. "I do hope you and Monsieur Richard find your retirement enjoyable. It _is_ a shame you couldn't stay longer." She cast a look at Erik, to which he simply smiled sweetly at her.

"This was just meant to be," he chuckled. "The Opera House is in extremely capable hands now…Richard! Come over and say hello, won't you?"

"Oh, yes, of course," the man said, cautiously making his way over. He smiled weakly at Angelique, having found out that this humble, lowly seamstress which he had constantly berated and belittled was now a _Comtesse_ and currently the love of the new co-owner and manager of the _Palais Garnier_. "How do you do? Ah, I do hope you'll forgive me, _mademoiselle_, for the trouble I might have caused you when you first arrived-"

"There's no need for that," she started.

"Let him finish, dearest," Erik cut in, his eyes glowing at Richard. "We mustn't leave certain things unsaid." He could see the man shiver under his gaze, enjoying his pale face as he stared at him.

"Erik!" she scolded him through her clenched jaw.

"Erm, I am _truly, very_ sorry," Richard squeaked, immediately scurrying away. "Ah, do excuse me, I'm not feeling so well."

"Pardon me, I'd better check on him. It'll only be a moment," Moncharmin excused himself as he ran after his friend, his brows furrowing. Grabbing a hold of his shoulder, he was startled to find Richard as pale as a tablecloth. "What on earth is the matter with you, man? One would think you'd seen a ghost."

"I might have," Richard shuddered, continuing to move away. "I just might have…"

**~OG~**

The stars winked and shone daintily in the night sky above as the Jouberts, Comtesse, and Erik made their way home late that evening, each of them splitting off into their respective rooms after heartily wishing each other a good night's rest and a final congratulations to the performers of the household.

"Well done, Adrien," Angelique said, kissing his forehead. "You were wonderful! I'm so proud of you."

"As am I," Erik smiled, patting the young man's shoulder. "You were a success, and this is only the beginning."

"I hope to be as good as you someday, _Maestro_," he grinned, embracing the man. "None of this would have happened without you."

He accepted the physical gesture of gratitude much more easily nowadays, so he gave the boy a gentle squeeze before nodding his head. "Thank you, Adrien…you are a wonderful student…now go, get some rest." He watched Adrien as he bowed and took off, finally coming down from his emotional high from the performance and praise.

"I think it's time we also get our rest," Angelique yawned. Stretching onto the tips of her toes, she kissed his jaw as she caressed his cheek. "Goodnight, Erik."

"Goodnight, Angelique," he whispered, watching her skirts swish after her as she walked down the hall and entered her room. There was something sensual in the way she walked, the motion of her carelessly tossing her hair over her shoulder calling to him. He shook his head, hurrying down to his room, where Paien instantly bounded off his little bed and greeted him. "What Erik needs is a cold bath," he muttered, kneeling down to pet the exuberant puppy.

"With ice!" the puppy yipped.

"Yes, with lots of ice," Erik chuckled, letting the dog kiss his face. Peeling the mask off from his face, he carefully set it aside before carrying the dog with him into his private bathroom, turning the faucet on and watching the water stream out. Perhaps the bath would soothe him after all the excitement and triumphs of that day.

* * *

**A/N: **Any and all cheesy "Don Juan Triumphant" lyrics you read in this fanfic are mine ^_^ Hope you enjoyed and please be sure to leave your thoughts! See you all next time!


	29. From God Above

**Chapter Twenty-Nine – From God Above**

"Paien…Erik is not a bad man, is he?" he asked, tying his robe securely before leaving the bathroom and lighting the candelabra that stood upon the nightstand.

"No, why would you think that?" the puppy yawned, lying complacently on his belly as he stared at Erik.

He sighed, realizing how silly it was making the dog "talk" just so he could vent his frustration and concerns. Still, he needed someone, and he knew Paien wouldn't judge or hate him. "Erik can't stop thinking about his precious Angelique, Paien…sometimes in ways that he shouldn't. He doesn't lust, he…he _envisions the future_," he insisted, curling his hand into a fist as he pressed it to his chest.

"…it's still lusting," Paien blinked.

He growled. "Yes, I suppose it is…but what do you expect of a man who has been barred from the rights most men receive without a second thought? She…she loves Erik, and Erik loves her…none of this would have been possible without her…or without…" Without a warning, his eyes fell upon an object he had not paid much mind to for many years of his life. The crucifix had always been in this room and he hadn't bothered to move it, but now it called to him, as though he was a child that had been out too long, the Father calling him back to his side as night fell. He walked towards it, a strong, sudden feeling of pained happiness filling him as he fell to his knees, covering his face with his hands. "…oh God…it has been a very long time since Erik…since _I_ spoke with You," he said softly, his eyes stinging with tears. "So many times I begged for some sign of mercy, some slight of hand that You might show me a bit of kindness…after everything I endured since birth, all the scorn, the abuse, the heartache…now my life is overflowing with blessings…how I wished to be accepted, to be recognized for my talents and left alone when it came to my face…most of all, I wanted a wife to take out and to come home to…Angelique is…she is the Angel You have sent me…my soul would shatter if I were to lose her now…" His eyes moved to the little box lying on the piano's edge, hidden discreetly in the shadows. "…I suppose all I wanted to say is…thank you…thank you for…all of this."

The heaviness in his heart seemed to lift off of him as he sighed deeply. Rising to his feet, he stretched out his hand and caressed the velvet box which contained the ring…oh, how badly he wanted to ask her right at that moment, how he yearned to take her in his arms and claim her for his own for once and for all… "No…it needs to be just right…the perfect moment…" He slipped the box into a secret compartment in the baby grand piano, his sigh soon changing into a hum, his hum rising into the air and becoming a soft song. He continued to sing even after little Paien had nodded off. As tired as he was, he was still restless. As he turned to move towards the bookshelf in search of a particular novel, Angelique's face flickered into his mind. He could see her, singing on the stage with him, singing to him, meaning every word she annunciated. He felt himself in a trance, still humming and singing softly, when he opened his eyes and froze, realizing that somehow, he had made it into her room. _"_Mon Dieu_, have I been possessed?!"_

She was lying on her bed, her hair splayed around her like a shining sea of chestnut-red waves, her eyelids fluttering open. "Er-ik?" she murmured, causing shivers to run down his spine. "Are you well?"

"I…couldn't sleep," he stammered, moving away from her. "Erik is sorry. He just…he had to see you. Please, go back to sleep-"

"Erik," she whispered, reaching out towards him. Her fingers lightly gripped his robe as he eyes shone with all the pride and joy in the world. "Erik…you know I love you, don't you? You know that I'm so very proud of you?"

He nodded, his mouth dry as he fought to answer her. Instead, he let go of his fears of being too forward, scooping her up into his arms and stealing her away, stalking down the darkened hall until they entered his room, lit dimly by a single candelabra. The shadows and glow of the weak, ancient light only served to make Angelique drowsy once more as she pressed her forehead against his cold, yellow neck. He felt his pulse jump at the feel of her soft, warm skin, his breath hitching.

"Keep singing, Erik…please?" she breathed.

He placed her gently upon his bed, sorely missing the absence of her lithe body against his. Slipping the covers over her as she started to shiver, he sang once more, sweet melodies that he conjured then and there as he exposed his soul and heart to her. He felt his heart become pierced with an invisible knife when he saw tears slide down her face, a heartfelt smile on her lips as she grabbed his hand and kissed it tenderly. "Hold me," she whispered, fighting for consciousness.

He surrendered at once, taking her in his arms once more before sitting on the bed and cradling her. She rested against his heart, her breath slowing until he felt her body slacken in his grip. His own eyes fluttered shut as he leaned back into the pillows and held her close, pressing his lips to hers before feeling the sweet recesses of darkness and slumber claim him for a few hours of blissful, dream-filled sleep.

**~OG~**

The weeks that followed Erik's successful debut as an actor and manager were filled with more ideas and productions than he had ever dreamed he could do in a lifetime. The weeks turned into months, and before he knew it, it was soon the start of fall, the air chilling once more and biting into their skin.

"Where has the time gone?!" Erik grumbled, sinking into his desk at the manager's office. "I wanted to propose ages ago to Angelique and…well, look at me now! It's been six months since I've been manager and owner!"

"You _have_ been very busy, Erik," Philippe noted, pouring them both a glass of fine wine that Erik had saved in his desk. "Besides, it's not as if Angelique doesn't love you."

"No, but it isn't fair to her…or myself! And I don't want to continue with this madness – it's time she live a proper life," Erik insisted.

"You two haven't done anything for anyone to think of you as improper," the Comte protested.

"She deserves so much better…that's it! Tomorrow is Sunday – I shall propose to her then! We'll finally be alone and I shall have all this paperwork out of the way. We've already finished this season's show of _Carmen_, and I've already got several ideas for this next season…I shall give everyone the week off – everyone needs it. We've been thrust into doing show after show due to popular demand and the public's responses to each performance…yes, take the week off, and propose tomorrow…_Mon Dieu_, what if she says 'no'?!"

"Then she is mad," Philippe said firmly, sipping his wine. "Listen to me, Erik, you've changed. I can't tell you how much you've transformed…if she loved you when you were the reclusive Opera Ghost, then she will love you even more so now that you've become a good man, as well as becoming the toast of all Paris."

Erik placed his chin atop his fist as he looked at Philippe, still unable to believe that in the span of seven months, they had become associates through the opera, as well as decent friends. Erik was invited to social gathers through the de Chagnys and found himself mingling with others little by little, though he still greatly preferred his solitude in the darkness with only those closest to him. Even so, it was nice to be one of the "human race", and the soft, fleshy mask he had created had been worn out so much that he had to create another, which turned out even better in consistency and comfort than the last one.

"…thank you, Philippe," he said at last, his voice low and soft. "...I don't suppose, once I ask and if she says 'yes'…you and the others might wish to join us for the wedding? I'd much prefer something small and intimate, quality over quantity, you know."

The nobleman chuckled, nodding his head. "Yes, I understand. I'm sure we would all love to attend. I know that Mary would enjoy that before she left for London to continue her studies, and we would all be happy to help."

Erik nodded, taking a sip of his drink before letting his fingers caress the cufflinks on his sleeve, remembering how Angelique had presented them to him so many months ago. A hopeful smile grew on his lips as he thought of her. Maybe, just maybe…

**~OG~**

"It was awfully generous of you to give the whole theater company the week off, Erik," Angelique said as he helped her out of the carriage. She watched her breath materialize before her eyes in a puff of smoke before vanishing once again. The wind mussed her hair around her face and bit at her neck and skin, causing her to clutch Erik's arm.

"I believe we all need this," he said, his heart leaping as she clung to him. Even after all this time, she still managed to make his pulse quicken at the drop of a hat. He slipped his scarf off and twirled it around her with a flourish, almost appearing to strangle her beautifully with the silky cloth. She stood still and waited for him to finish adjusting the article of clothing before straightening his collar and fixing his thick blue cravat, her fingers lingering on his neck causing him to shudder in delight. Linking arms, she rested her head upon his shoulder, letting him walk her towards the pond. They sat down at the bench and watched couples and children walk by, saying nothing, enjoying each other's company.

"You're cold," he noted, wrapping his arms and cape around her.

"Only because you're not close enough," she smirked, embracing him tightly and kissing his chin. "Would you call me crazy if I told you I missed your old masks? The ones you wore before this one?"

"I thought you were insane when you suggested I show more of my face, and I thought you were escaped from an asylum when you wanted to see my face devoid of any covering," he remarked snidely, his heart melting as he looked down and saw her giggling at him. "…but Erik is most happy when he is with you…it's a strange, exotic feeling when someone loves you despite the face you own, the past you've been through…" Taking her hands, he kissed each knuckle reverently, his breath on her skin making her shiver. His stomach twisted in a knot as he felt the little box tucked into his pants' pocket, his heart pounding so wildly he was afraid she could hear it. "Ahm…Angelique?"

"Yes?" she asked, raising one eyebrow at him playfully.

He slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew the box, though his hand remained hidden and curled tightly around the item. "Erik would like to…apologize."

Her brows furrowed at this in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Eri-…that is, _I_ have been wanting to ask you for the longest time, and I've let my new job and position take over for some time…it hasn't been fair to you, or even to myself, and I cannot bear to wait any longer." Getting off the bench, he kneeled before her and exposed the box in the dying light of that cool Sunday evening, watching her eyes widen in wonder, tears filling them instantly. "Angelique, you were the redemption that God sent to me…and I can only hope that you won't mind living with a corpse for the rest of your life…" Skillfully, he took one of her hands in his and opened the box with the other hand, the ring glistening before her. "Angelique, my love…will you marry me?"

"Oh, Erik!" she sobbed, tears flowing freely from her face as her free hand covered her mouth. The sudden motion made him stiffen, doubt seeping into his mind when she flung herself at him and kissed him feverishly. "Yes! A thousand times yes, Erik! I thought you'd never ask!"

He choked as he gasped, clutching her to his chest as he closed his eyes in delighted bliss. He held her for a moment, the two of them feeling each other's heartbeats until he pulled away to wipe her tears from her face. "T-The ring," he stammered, his hands shaking as he remembered. "I should…here." He plucked it from its cushion before taking her hand and kissing it. "Read it first…there's something inside."

With trembling fingers, she took the item from him and squinted as she read the inscription that had been engraved inside the golden band. "Angelique, Angel of My Heart – Erik," she read aloud, smiling at him once she finished. "Help me put it on." He willingly did so, slipping the ring onto the proper finger before kissing her hand passionately. "Oh, Erik!" she whispered, kissing his forehead. "Thank you."

"_Non, mon ange_, I should be thanking you," he murmured, resting his forehead against her neck. "You've made Erik the happiest man alive."

"Erik, let's go home and tell everyone," she pleaded, running her fingers through his graying dark hair. "Please? I'm so excited…when do you want to be married?"

"If I could, I would take you to the church right now," he confessed, earning a laugh from her. "It would be nice to plan something special, something personal…a month or two, perhaps? No later than November…it would be nice if we could do all this before Christmas."

"Our first Christmas together," she sighed, sending shivers down his spine. "Married…let's go, Erik." Kissing his lips, she smiled at him and embraced him once more. "Let's go. We have a lot to do before November."

"Yes," he nodded, his eyes staring off at the setting sun, feeling dazed as if in a dream, a wonderful dream. "Yes, we do."

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the short chapter - we are nearing the end of the story, and I just thought it would be nice to stop here for the time being. I'll be back with another chapter of what ensues shortly, I promise ;) Thanks for tuning in and please don't forget to let me know what you thought of it. See you all next time!


	30. Cendrillon et le Bete

**Chapter Thirty – Cendrillon et le Bete**

"I love it," Angelique mumbled, running her fingers over the fabric before Fanette helped her take the gown off. "Erik's design turned out gorgeous."

"And your sewing skills are remarkable," the woman beamed.

"I did get lots of help," Angelique grinned at the lady, earning an embrace.

"We were more than happy to assist you, dearie," she reassured her.

"This is so exciting!" Meg squealed, hopping up and down. "I can't wait!"

"Can you believe the wedding is in two weeks?!" Sorelli sighed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "It's going to be grand…small, but grand."

"Thank you for inviting us all," Christine smiled, embracing the seamstress-turned-Comtesse. "It's such an honor to be part of the wedding."

"You're all not just friends, but family," Angelique explained. "I only wish Mary could make it-"

"Well, you're in for a treat," Becca smirked as she entered the room without knocking.

Everyone spun around to greet her as she entered Angelique's bedroom at the Archambault estate. It had started to snow lightly outside, coating the singer in the soft white fuzz that had already started to melt. "Sorry I'm late, but you'll never believe who I found just as I was getting ready to leave the _Palais_!"

"Is it-?" Angelique started, her eyes widening in delight as Mary Adelshire entered the room with arms wide open. "Mary! Oh, dear Mary!"

"I've missed you all!" Mary exclaimed, running to the others. They all attacked her, forming a group hug in the center of the room, giggling and kissing and chatting all at once. Paien pounced the girl's skirts, prompting her to kneel down and kiss his wet nose. "He's gotten so much bigger since I was last here…before anybody says or asks anything, I have news!" Fanette urged them all to lower their voices before they finally focused their attention on the young lady and listened to her announcement. "You all know that I've been taking classes for management and I'm top of my class-"

"No need to brag," Sorelli smirked. "On with it!"

"I'm qualified!" she screamed, her face glowing with excitement. "I passed the classes and I've graduated – in a way – so I've come to celebrate my success as well as your marriage!"

"Mary!" gasped Meg. "That's excellent-"

"That's not the best part," she grinned. "I stopped by the opera to tell Grandpapa the news and I saw Monsieur Chevalier. When I told them, he offered me a job as his assistant and secretary since Monsieur Mercier and Monsieur Remy are retiring!"

"That's…incredible!" Becca gaped. "I had no idea Erik wouldn't mind working with a woman, especially since you're so young."

"I know, but I _am_ excited, and it's a big responsibility," she gushed. "I'm going to work very hard to prove myself to everyone."

"I know you'll do well, _mon cher_," Angelique beamed, kissing her forehead. "I suppose this means you'll be moving in with your grandfather?"

"Oh yes," she nodded. "There's no place I'd rather be."

"Except, perhaps, with Fanette's dashing and charming son?" Christine asked, cocking her head as she raised an eyebrow at the girl.

Fanette laughed and embraced Mary as she blushed in response to Christine's prodding question. "He misses you sorely, you know, _mademoiselle_. He'll be so happy to hear you're back."

Mary accepted the woman's comforting words when her eyes caught sight of the wedding dress. She stared in awe at the gown – it was a shimmering hue of pearl white, a high collar made of a sheer fabric covering the neck, shoulders, and collarbone with pearl buttons down to the bust, where the bodice and sleeves were made of silk. Roses had been embroidered on the material, the slender sleeves puffing out just before coming back and cuffing the wrists. The skirt billowed out just enough to complete the princess look. Angelique was completely covered with this gown, and yet, with the delicacy and snugness of the gown, she was demurely provocative. "Oh my…Angelique, did you design this?"

"Erik did…I made it with everyone's help, though," she admitted.

"Oh, you'll look perfect!" she gasped, embracing her once more. "I can't believe you're getting married!"

"It's about time!" Becca laughed. "He's madly in love with her. I was surprised when the Comte de Chagny beat him to the punch and asked Sorelli for her hand back in May."

"Yes, well, Monsieur Chevalier is rather shy," the dancer chuckled. "He's really quite the gentleman…you are very lucky, _mon ami_."

"You're right, I am," Angelique smiled. "I feel like the luckiest girl in the world."

**~OG~**

"A toast to Erik Chevalier," Raoul said aloud as the men gathered in the de Chagny library and shared their drinks, raising their glasses skyward. "A man who's been changed for the better, and thus has improved all our lives."

"Here, here!" Henri grinned, the others following in his suit.

They all gently knocked their glasses together before gulping the fluids down, still congratulating Erik.

"Thank you all," Erik repeated for what felt like the millionth time that night. "I cannot express my gratitude enough through words, so I shall do it in the only way I know best how to."

"Did you compose something, _Maestro_?" Adrien asked, looking over at his father with eyes full of hope.

"I did," he admittedly with a shrug. "It's a small piece-"

"Well, go on and play it!" Philippe grinned, urging the server to bring more wine.

"That was very thoughtful of you, Erik," Adelshire chuckled as he clinked his glass with Lamar's once more. "It's very touching."

"Music is my pen, my tongue, my shield," Erik explained as he walked to the next room, the group of men following close behind. He stopped before the instrument in the drawing room, not daring to look back as he clenched his hands. "…I have never had friends…nor family…no one to turn to…and suddenly, I receive all this…"

Nadir stepped forth, placing his hand on his friend's bony shoulder. "We shall not abandon you, Erik…believe me when I say that you are a bright light in our lives, and we have come to admire you. We wish you all the best."

He nodded, not daring to say anything for fear of choking on his words. Pulling away, he sat at the piano and played his tune for them, letting himself become absorbed in the song. His friends gathered around, spellbound by the intricate, brief tune he had composed, exchanging glances of awe and amazement. The notes danced and swirled around their heads, rich and deep with a dainty undertone. When at last he stopped, he was startled by the applause he received from his entourage, having been so engrossed in the music.

"Well done," Raoul grinned as Erik stood and bowed to them. "Thank you for that marvelous display."

"Angelique is to be envied if she gets to listen to that each day," Adelshire chuckled.

"Speaking of which, since Angelique is a _Comtesse_, you shall become _Comte Chevalier_ once you marry, Erik," Henri noted. "That is, if she allows it."

"We have…discussed it," Erik nodded, running his skeleton-like fingers through his dark hair. "Since she has accepted my surname, she asked that I accept the title 'Comte', as we will be bound by marriage and there is paperwork that must go through…it shall be official once we say our vows."

"That is most excellent," the Persian smiled. "You are very fortunate."

"Yes," he said simply.

Henri whispered something to Raoul, who began to laugh heartily. The two young men gave Erik mischievous looks, causing him to raise an eyebrow at them. "Erik, Angelique is your blushing bride…but we understand that you have not had a woman before her."

"With _this_ face?" he sneered. "Of course not! What does it matter, anyway?"

"Well, that means that you're still a…well, you know!" Henri snickered.

"A…?" Erik prodded on, not amused in the least.

"A virgin?" Adrien offered innocently, causing Nadir to spew his drink out from shock.

Erik's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets while most of the men in the room started to laugh. Lamar and Adelshire gave them berating look, rolling their eyes. "How immature," Lamar muttered.

"That is nothing to be ashamed of," Rupert Adelshire sniffed.

"In my country, we do not talk so openly about these topics," Nadir sniffed.

"In your country, assassinations and concubines are as common place as salt," Raoul rolled his eyes.

"Enough, all of you," Philippe snapped. "If you're not going to help him, then don't say anything."

"Help me?" Erik echoed, his stomach feeling like a boulder.

"Well, for starters, don't dive right in, if you catch my drift," Raoul cautioned him, dead serious. "Be gentle with her."

"And take your time," Philippe added lightly, lighting his pipe. "No need to rush."

"This is most inappropriate," Nadir frowned, earning nods of approval from Joubert and Adelshire.

"Sure, but we all know what you think of Rebecca Anderson," Henri smirked.

"Oh yes, and your affections for Meg Giry go unnoticed," the Persian quipped back coolly, earning a glare from the young Baron.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" Adelshire shouted, motioning with his hands to cool down. "Please, I know we're all getting excited-" He earned many laughs at the last comment. "-but let us remember why we are here – to celebrate our friend's success and happiness. So, let us go into the dining hall and toast him once more as we fill our bellies with good food and our minds with merry memories." He winked at Erik, who in turn gave him a grateful smile. Adelshire found it strange that he had decided to wear his old white mask with only his eyes, mouth, and chin exposed, but it brought a sense of nostalgia from the days when they had first met. Patting the talented man on the back, he whispered in Erik's ear, "I have my own little surprise for you." When Erik gave him an uncertain look, he continued, "I have your honeymoon planned out."

Erik gawked at him, stunned. "T-To where-?"

"London, my dear man," he grinned. "You've never been there, and you've traveled nearly all over the world. You may stay at my old residence – there's only a maid who appears every week to check on the house in my absence. I have the passage booked for the following morning after your wedding, and everything is all set. I hope you don't mind, but I thought it would be the best gift I could offer since neither of you have parents that can spoil you. It brings back memories of my dear son when he was married, God bless his soul." He made a sign of the Cross and sighed, remembering his deceased offspring. "Please Erik, won't you accept it?"

"You have offered me the world and still continue to shower me with gifts from the heavens," Erik whispered, embracing the man. "Of course I accept. Angelique will be most pleased. Thank you…my dear friend."

The old man held Erik tightly in his arms before pulling away and rubbing his eye. "Ah, well then, shall we?" he cleared his throat, motioning for Erik to enter.

Half-heartedly, the man known as the "Opera Ghost" cast him a smile before sitting down and reaching for his napkin.

"_Maestro_?"

Glancing to his side, he saw Adrien sitting next to him, leaning towards him. "What is it, Adrien?" he asked softly, also moving towards his pupil.

"Forgive me, but…I don't suppose you could give me some suggestions?" he whispered.

His brows furrowed at this. "Suggestions? Whatever for?"

"I…I want to court Mary Adelshire, sir, but I'm not sure how to ask…or if she'll approve of me," he admitted, his eyes downcast. "She's headstrong and beautiful and independent…I'm just a stable boy-"

"You're a famous singer now," Erik corrected him. "And a fine young man who is a gentleman at heart. Besides," he rolled his eyes with a cruel chuckle. "I'm not the ideal person to go to for advice on how to woo a lady."

"I trust your judgment, Maestro," he insisted stubbornly. "You are the one man, aside from the Lord and my father, that I see as a mentor and great advisor."

The young man's words touched Erik so much that he clutched his heart, his throat dry as his eyes stung from withholding tears. "I…I see…thank you, Adrien. You are the finest young man I know…and a wonderful pupil." Heaving a sigh of defeat, he watched the boy's face light up as he said, "Very well, I shall give you some…_suggestions_, but not a word of this to anyone, understood?"

"Yes, Maestro," he nodded as the servants came out with their supper. "Yes…thank you!"

**~OG~**

"Angelique!" Jammes squealed as the seamstress walked into the ballet girls' dormitory with a rather large parcel in her hands. "It's Angelique!"

"The Comtesse!" the girls exclaimed, rushing towards her as she set the boxes down.

"Hello, girls!" she grinned, hugging each one of them, kissing their foreheads. "Back up a bit and I can hand out your presents."

"Presents?!" the girls screeched in frenzied ecstasy. They did as they were told, waiting to receive their gifts.

"Oh, _Mademoiselle_!" little Louise beamed as she saw the _Comtesse_ hand out new ballet slippers, colorful hair ribbons, and even fine Parisian pastries to each and every girl. "Thank you! You're so thoughtful!"

"It's my pleasure," she said, kissing the girl's nose. "You've all been so sweet and kind to me, ever since I came into the opera, so it's the very least I could do."

"Bring us something back from your trip!" Jammes said greedily, earning a jab at her side from Meg. "OW! What was that for?"

"Stop being such a little magpie – be satisfied with what you have!" Meg scolded her.

"You're getting to be as bad as Sorelli!" Jammes whined.

"_Pardon_?" Sorelli asked as she approached, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing!" she squeaked, scurrying away like the ballet rat she was.

Once the corps de ballet had dispersed after thanking their seamstress for the marvelous little gifts, Angelique accepted a seat from the elder girls, consisting of Sorelli, Meg, Josephine, and Charlotte. "So," Josephine grinned as they sat and stood around their patroness. "Do you know where the honeymoon will take place?"

"London," Angelique beamed. "Erik told me last night when he got home. Lord Adelshire is letting us stay at his old residence while we're there."

"How long will you be away?" Meg asked, selecting a rather plump chocolate and popping it into her mouth.

"Oh, I suppose a fortnight. Erik can't bear to be away to long from here. He loves it," she confessed. "And I would get homesick."

"I'd stay away as long as possible!" Charlotte gasped, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "You should do the same. Before you know it, you'll be _very_ busy, if you catch my drift." She winked at the group, earning giggles from each female there.

"Are you nervous?" Josephine whispered, glancing over her shoulder to make sure the other ballerinas didn't catch what they were talking about.

"Why should I be?" Angelique asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't listen to them," Sorelli waved them off. "I'm sure Erik is the perfect gentleman and will be most delicate when he takes you."

"When he _what_?" she gaped at them.

"Darling, you may be a virgin, but you're _not_ stupid," the head dancer rolled her eyes. "You know perfectly well what I mean."

"O-Oh…well, I'd rather not think of that just yet-"

"Why not?" Josephine and Charlotte said simultaneously, giggling as though they were mad. "I've heard it's painful," Charlotte whispered. "Sometimes we talk to the old girls who have left the opera and we see all the children they have. It can't be that painful if they keep having more!"

"It's not painful when you…well, _create_ the child," Meg said, giving them an unimpressed look. "At least, that's what Maman said. It's when you have to give birth that it becomes unbearable."

Angelique bit her lip and fought not to squirm in their presence. She was just as old as some of these girls but she felt like a child as they spoke, feeling as though she was standing in a room naked while they gawked at her. Whatever had to happen once she and Erik got married, they would go through with it, but talking about it with these giggling geese only served to make her skin crawl.

"Well, enough about that," Sorelli spoke, cutting their conversation short. "Aren't you going to meet with Christine today?"

"Yes, she's going to help me with decorations," Angelique breathed, relieved that the topic had changed. A smile came to her face as she added, "…and I'm going to help her think about a name."

"A name?" Josephine asked, blinking in confusion.

"You don't mean…? OH!" Meg gasped, her face lighting up. "When did she find out?!"

"Just this morning – Raoul almost fainted!" Angelique laughed.

"Oh! How lovely!" Sorelli laughed, clapping her hands in delight. "What does she think it's going to be?"

"A boy…she's going to see a midwife sometime later this week," she grinned. Rising from her seat, she adjusted her scarf and embraced each one of them. "I have to go, but I'll see you all later."

"You'd better!" Charlotte scolded her teasingly.

"Comtesse! Comtesse, wait!" Jammes called out, running to her at once. She tackled the young lady with an embrace and tugged at her braid, complete with the new bright pink ribbon she had just received. "Thank you for the presents again!"

"You're very welcome," she answered kindly. "I promise, I'll bring you all something from my trip to London."

"Oh good! Angelique?"

"Yes?"

"How does…how does _the Phantom_ feel about this?" she whispered, causing Sorelli's eyes to roll, while Meg giggled. Josephine and Charlotte paled, their eyes darting about the room as she mentioned the specter's name.

"About…my wedding?" she asked, raising an eyebrow mischievously. "Well, I haven't heard any protests from him as of late. I don't think he minds…why would it matter at any rate?"

"It's just…may I talk to you outside?" Jammes asked, stubbornly tugging at her arm.

Amused, Angelique waved goodbye to the others before letting the girl take her outside into the hall, a few steps away from the door. "What's the matter, Jammes?"

"It's just that…I thought maybe you and the Phantom were…in love?" she whispered, her eyes scanning the perimeter.

Angelique felt her heart stop within her chest as she put on a patronizing smile. "Oh, dearest, I don't think-"

"But the last time I heard him, months ago, it was after you and Miss Daae had vanished, and he called for you in the workroom, remember?!" she insisted so loudly that Angelique shushed her at once. "He called you 'my Angel'!...wait! It's Monsieur Chevalier, isn't it?!" she gasped dramatically. "The Ghost has taken his form so he can walk amongst us and be with you! That's why he can't be away from the Opera House for too long!"

"_She's sharp,"_ Angelique thought. "Jammes, I think this is a lovely little story you've conjured, but-"

"But it's not a story! I know it's true!" Jammes stomped her foot stubbornly, pouting at the Comtesse. "If the Phantom speaks up and says something at this very moment, then I know it's true – he's always listening, you know. If he says nothing, then I know it's not true."

Angelique bit her tongue, not sure whether to panic or roll her eyes. "The Opera Ghost does not love-"

"_Angelique…"_

The two girls froze in place at the sound of the velvet timbre that floated down and settled around them. It was a whisper in her ear, a faint caress that she couldn't get enough of. Angelique wanted to close her eyes and fall back into his arms, surrender to his embrace – she knew he would catch her, should she attempt such a feat, and it would frighten little Jammes out of her wits. She fought the urge, fought Erik's playfulness, and stood perfectly still, holding her breath.

"D-Did you hear-?" the ballerina whispered, paling as she heard the voice once more.

"_Angelique…"_ the air moaned, her name rolling off his tongue as he echoed himself. _"Come back to me…"_

"I told you!" Jammes hissed, darting to and fro in an effort to find the source of the hypnotic, sensual voice that continued to sigh for the seamstress. "The Phantom loves you! He must be furious about Chevalier, unless they're the same person!"

"Jammes, this is ridiculous," she lied, starting to walk after the girl when she sensed a presence behind her. She gasped as a set of long, thin arms encircled her and pulled her towards a man's torso, one of his gloved hands covering her mouth to muffle her cry of surprise. "Erik-!" she started, silenced by a pair of cold, clammy lips that ravished her mouth hungrily.

"Angelique, you should go to him-!...Angelique?!" Jammes all but screamed when she saw that she wasn't around. "Angelique, this isn't funny!" she hissed.

"_Mon ange_," Erik whispered, tormenting both Angelique and Jammes in two totally different ways.

"_Mon Dieu_, he's taken her away!" she screeched, torn between gleeful delight and utter horror. She ran off without another word until she entered the dormitories and slammed the door after her, screaming, "The Ghost stole the Comtesse!"

"Erik, look what you've done," she scolded him, her eyes fluttering shut as he ran his fingers down her arms and back up, grabbing hold of her shoulders. "There'll be scandals…rumors…!" It was so difficult, trying to think straight while he was behind her, caressing her in the shadows where no one could see them. She was spellbound, resting against his chest as she raised her hands to touch his face. She felt him suck in a deep breath as she touched his bare face, feeling his cold skin under her soft fingertips.

"The Opera Ghost can't die completely, you said so yourself," he murmured, taking hold of her chin in his hand and turning her face so that he could claim her mouth once more. "And he cannot deny what he feels for the Cinderella of this establishment."

"Hmph," she struggled to say, but his mouth made it difficult for her to utter anything other than a moan of wonder.

"It's true," he chuckled, sending shivers down her spine as he pulled away only to move his lips down her neck. "You are _Cendrillon_, and you have tamed _le Bete_ of the _Palais Garnier_."

"Those are fairy tales, Erik, we're real," she rambled on, still distracted by his affections.

"Ah, _mon ange_, that is what Erik's life feels like now," he sighed as he buried his face in her hair. "You've changed it from a tragic play into a happy, bright fairy tale…however, I can't let the legend just die. Besides, it gives the ballet rats something to gossip about."

"You just like to tease them," she smirked, turning around and wrapping her arms around his neck. She leaned forth, her eye half-lidded as she gazed at his grotesque lips, sending his blood racing. "What will they think of me, married to the owner of the opera and having an affair with a ghost?"

"Every opera needs its scandals and secrets," he grinned wickedly. "But if you do not wish it-"

"I can handle myself just fine…besides, _we_ know the truth." The conversation evaporated with another kiss that lasted, perhaps, for eons in their snug, private hideaway behind the trapdoors.


	31. The Beginning of Forever

**A/N: **A head's up to those of you who don't care for PG-13 insinuations and romance - skip down to "The two of them waved..." when you reach "'And I love you,' she sniffled..." Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-One – The Beginning of Forever**

The sun peaked over the clouds as the noonday bells rang in the cathedral of Notre-Dame. The people on the streets scurried by, some occasionally pausing to marvel at the beautiful church before going on their merry way. They remained oblivious to the spectacle within the edifice, just as Erik had expected them to.

Standing at the altar with his skin mask placed upon his face, he felt his heart pounding madly within his chest as he waited. "Where _is_ she?" he hissed to Nadir, his eyes glued to the doors of the grand church. Horrifying visions of Angelique vanishing from sight filled his stomach with doubt and fear, making him clench his hands in anticipation.

"You know how women are, Erik," Nadir whispered, patting his back sympathetically. "Stop worrying or your mask will come off."

"Nonsense," he scowled at his best man. "I made sure it wouldn't come off, especially today of all days."

"You know what I mean," he rolled his eyes.  
"I should like to go over and play the music myself," Erik murmured, wringing his hands behind his back as he listened to the organist.

"You already wrote the entire wedding mass, Erik! You're not going to leave your post to play your own wedding," the Persian frowned at him. "Leave the organist alone!" He watched Erik squirm, slightly amused by his friend's antics. He was still stunned that he had been asked to be the best man for this occasion. Becca had been chosen to be the maid of honor by Angelique, and while there was no bridal party to join them on the dais of the church, all of their beloved were gathered under the same roof to celebrate this momentous occasion.

The music suddenly swelled, causing Erik to straighten at once like a jackknife, his eyes upon the opening doors. As light and airily as the organ's tune, a vision in white entered and walked down the aisle. Erik felt his heart ache with happiness, so much so that he thought he would die on the spot. Angelique wore the dress he had designed for her, her hair pinned into a half-bun while the rest spilled around her face, tumbling in curls down her shoulders. Her face was shielded with a sheer veil, a simply flowery tiara keeping the veil in place. She held a bouquet of pristine white roses in her hands, her arms linked with her adoptive parents. Lamar and Fanette proudly walked her down to him, tears of joy in their eyes. Erik felt his eyes sting of tears as they embraced and kissed him before handing Angelique over to him, offering their little lamb to the monstrous wolf to be joined at the altar. As the priest prattled on with the ceremony, Erik found that he couldn't look away for a moment from his blushing bride. She was perfection, and he was…not. Still, she gazed at him with eyes full of all the adoration the world could offer, and it made him want to weep. It made him want to fall to his knees and thank God he was actually alive and made it this far, just for this moment.

"…_monsieur_?"

Erik blinked, shaken from his thoughts. "_Pardon_?"

"Do you take this woman to be your wife?" the priest asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement. This wasn't the first time the happy couple hadn't responded to the age old questions asked at a wedding mass because they were so enamored with one another.

"I do!" he all but shouted a little too quickly, wincing as he realized how he had reacted. "…I do," he repeated softly, his eyes locking with Angelique's as she smiled beautifully at him.

The priest nodded, biting back a chuckle before repeating the same question to Angelique.

"I do," she said, her face flushing a bright pink hue as she spoke. It made his stomach flop in a pleasant manner, the corners of his lips twitching upward.

"The rings?" the priest asked, turning to Nadir. The Persian offered them instantly, and the two slipped them on in the blink of an eye. Just like that, it was finished, and Erik heard the man say, "You may kiss your bride, _Comte Chevalier_."

Erik stared at him for a moment, stunned by the announcement. Slowly, he faced the young woman – _his bride!_ – and painstakingly reached for her veil. His fingers trembled as he lifted the gauzy object and flipped it over so it rested against her hair. There she was, glowing, beaming, blushing…waiting for him. He took a step towards her uncertainly, his heart pounding wildly within him. She inclined her head just so, encouraging him to kiss her. A wave of relief washed over him as he realized that it wasn't a dream – this was real, and it was happening right now. Closing his eyes, he dipped his face forth and planted his lips onto hers, a shiver running through him as he felt her deliciously warm lips part a breath's width upon contact. He could feel her submitting to him, her fingers gripping onto the lapels of his fine frock coat, her breath quickening just a bit as he, too, parted his lips to taste her. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest. _"_Mon Dieu_, am I making it beat so quickly…? Out of love…desire…affection?"_

He was all too aware of his surroundings, however, prompting him to gently pull away, blush appearing on his cheeks – thankfully, it did not show on his flesh-toned mask, which would have earned him playful ridicule at the party afterwards. He watched as her eyelids fluttered open to stare at him. He chuckled, still in awe that he could leave her breathless, with a look of wanting more in those stormy colored eyes. He grinned wickedly at her, earning a scolding look that melted into a dainty laugh. Taking her bouquet back from Becca, she accepted his arm and the two of them walked down the aisle as their friends clapped, following them outside to toss rice in congratulations.

Once more the bells tolled their brilliant, ringing song, and it was all for them.

**~OG~**

The day felt as if it went by in a blur. After the mass and ceremony, they all gathered at the de Chagny estate for the celebratory supper party. There was music, food, dancing, laughter, jesting, embraces, tears, kisses…Erik felt as though he was in some alien world and if someone pinched him, he would blink or look away, thus destroying the magic. It never happened…it continued.

Christine sang a song for them as they had their first dance as a married couple, and Meg caught the bouquet when Angelique flung it over her shoulders, earning a bright-eyed look from her precious Baron. Paien caused mischief all night, scampering around the tables looking for scraps and tugging at the women's dresses. Erik caught a glance at Nadir pressing his mouth to Becca's in the library; shortly afterwards he caught sight of Mary shocking Adrien with a kiss after they shared a dance, and Fanette brought out a large, mouthwatering cake she had made all by herself. And then there were the gifts…the tickets to the cruise that would take them to and from London, a new carriage, a fine stallion, a set of gorgeous china, precious silverware, handkerchiefs and napkins, rose seeds, a rare Stradivarius, a set of pearl jewelry, and more…

It was not until many hours later, after many toasts were made and they had stuffed themselves senseless, that Erik helped his wife into the brougham cab outside and shut the door. "You're absolutely…certain?" he muttered to Lamar and Philippe as they stood close by.

"Absolutely," Philippe winked knowingly.

"The Comte is kind enough to let us stay the night," Lamar nodded, holding the ever-growing puppy in his arms. "You two spend the night to yourselves. We will see you off at the docks tomorrow afternoon."

Erik nodded, thanking them silently with his eyes before commanding the driver to move. He watched as his friends – his _family_ – became smaller as they drove off, his golden eyes trailing over to his beloved as she waved her kerchief at them, beaming all the while. He opened his mouth to speak, however, he couldn't find any words to say, so instead he slipped his hand over hers and brought it to his lips, kissing each knuckle as he always did, oh so reverently.

He earned her attention at once, her eyes glistened as she looked at him. "How do you feel?" she asked suddenly, startling him.

"…happy. No – _euphoric_," he said, sighing deeply. "Erik keeps thinking this is all a dream and that it will vani-" His eyes widened as she threw her arms around him and kissed his lips, pulling away just as quickly.

"Was that a dream?" she smirked.

"_Mon Dieu_, you'll be the death of me," he uttered in a strained tone, his lower regions suddenly awake and alive.

"Did I do something wrong-?" she asked, stopping as he placed his fingers upon her lips.

"_Non, mon cher_…Erik is simply…having a hard time…_controlling_ himself," he grimaced.

She blinked, perplexed at first, until the message sunk in, her cheeks burning bright red. "Oh…I understand." To think that she made him feel that way…it made her want to giggle and curl up and hide in a corner all at once. "Well then…"

They remained silent for the duration of their short trip, though they remained holding each other's hands. Arriving at the estate, Erik helped her out and paid the driver handsomely, who tipped his hat and congratulated them politely before taking off. Entering the dark and quiet house, they stood there once the door had shut, looking at each other awkwardly as though they were schoolchildren.

"…I have something for you-!" they suddenly blurted out in unison, stopping at once and laughing nervously.

"Where is it?" she asked, tucking a strand of her hair out of her face.

"Upstairs…locked in the desk," he told her. "And yours?"

"In my basket, in my room," she told him. "I need to get it."

He nodded. "…bring it to my room…I have _two_ gifts, really, and one of them cannot be carried out."

"Erik!" she gasped. "I only have one-"

"You have _two_, and Erik has _three_," he corrected her, looking away at once.

Once more, she blushed as she understood his meaning. "Still…"

"Do not fret over quantity – it is quality that is important." He stepped towards her, kissing her forehead tenderly before offering his arm and helping her up the steps. "In Erik's room," he reminded her before slinking away, melding with the darkness.

She nodded absentmindedly, trailing off to her room, walking in a trance-like state as she looked through the old, battered basket she had brought from Erik's house. She had left most of her belongings in his home by the underground lake – the scarf, the music box, the painting…the threads she had left in her workroom at the opera, but there was one item which she had hidden carefully since her father passed away. Finding it in its box, she plucked it from its hiding place and clutched it to her heart, quickly kicking her shoes off. Taking a deep breath, she gently tugged the tiara and veil from her hair and set it on her vanity, reaching for the half-bun on her head when she stopped. _"No…I'll let him do it…he's fascinated with my hair for some reason…"_ She smiled ruefully before shaking her head and exiting the room. _"Either way, he likes it, and I shan't take that small happiness from him."_

Raising her fist, she tapped her knuckles tentatively on his door, waiting for a response.

The door swung open and there he stood, his fist pressed to his chest. He bit his lip, restraining the urge to take her at that very moment, to kiss her until she was senseless and swooned into his arms. No…not yet. He motioned for her to enter, noticing how much more beautiful she looked without the veil. He could see her bare feet as she walked towards the piano, a smile stretching over his artificial face.

"Erik?"

"_Oui, mon ange_?"

"Take off that mask," she pleaded, casting him a pleading gaze over her shoulder. "Please?"

He merely sighed as he carefully peeled it off, setting it down on the piano before moving to join her. "Better?" he asked almost sarcastically, motioning towards his exposed, true face. He froze as she kissed his lips, her fingers running down his cheek.

"Much better," she whispered, taking his unclenched hand in hers. Holding her breath, she placed the old box into his grip and bit her tongue, waiting anxiously for his response. She watched his thumb flick the lid of the box open, his eyes widening at the sight of a magnificent silver pocket watch with precious gems embedded to create a crescent moon.

"This…" he choked.

"It was my father's," she confessed softly. "I stole it from his study the night he passed away and hid it. I didn't want Maurice to take it…I've hidden it all this time…I know you have a fine pocket watch, Erik, but I…I-I wanted to you own it. My father would have wanted the same, I know it."

"Not after seeing my face, my dear," he chuckled darkly. "He's most likely turning in his grave if he can see me from above."

"Erik," she pouted, earning a friendlier chuckle this time.

"This is…very special…I shall treasure it always," he promised, caressing the lid of the watch with his thumb. "…I, too, have something from my parentage for you." He opened his clenched palm before her, displaying a fine, fanciful ruby perched upon a golden band, surrounded by diamonds. The ring was placed on a necklace chain, glittering in the light of the candelabra of Erik's quarters.

"Oh…oh, my!" she gasped, reaching towards it. "Erik…!"

"It belonged to my m-…mother," he forced the word out of his mouth, wincing as he confessed. "…it is the only piece of her jewelry that I took when she passed away…she wore it always, to remind her of my father when he died…she was not pleasant, but she was mine…Erik wants you to have it…to link happier memories to it."

"Oh Erik," she whispered, taking the item from him and caressing it lightly. Quickly, she set to work and before he could blink, there the ring hung, side by side with the locket he had bought her. Setting the chain aside, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek once more, sensing him shiver at her touch. "…you said you had another gift?"

"Ah…yes," he stammered, hurrying over to the piano bench at once. Placing the watch into the secret compartment, he let his hand linger on it one last time before shutting it away and opening a page of music. "Erik has…composed something for you, _mon ange_." He stiffened when she sat beside him, slowly relaxing after she placed her head on his shoulder. "Will you play it for me?" she requested gently, her hand covering his.

He nodded, waiting until she pulled away from him before letting his fingers dance across the keys, a sweet, breathtaking tune tinkling to life before them. He glanced over at her and reveled in her wide-eyed wonder, her heartbreaking smile, the glistening tears that slowly streaked down her face.

"_Vous êtes ma joie, _

_Tu es ma vie, _

_Mon amour vous aurez toujours…_

_Je t'aime, ma femme."_

When he had sung the last verse, he gave a little flourish of his hand and bowed his head to her, accepting her tearful embrace. She rested her head upon his chest, sobbing as he stroked her hair and back, one hand moving to undo the half-bun upon her head. He watched it tumble down, curling the thick tendrils of rich red-brown hair around his thin fingers. "Angelique…don't cry," he said softly, kissing her head. "…I love you."

"A-And I love y-you," she sniffled, pulling back from him and covering her face in a vain attempt to stop her tears. She felt him grip her wrists and gently force her to remove her hands before taking hold of her chin and kindly raising her head to look at him. She remained perfectly still, watching him as he gazed at her, his eyes full of longing. Slowly, ever so slowly, he bent his head towards her, his entire being quaking as he took hold of her and in one sudden, needy motion kissing her lips. She closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of his skin on hers, parting her lips for him and moaning as he tasted her. She threw her arms around him, pulling him deeper into the passionate, feverish kiss.

Erik felt his pulse rush like it never had before as he took her in his arms and lifted her off the bench, fighting to work his way to the bed without tripping. He was most stubborn as he was thrown into waves of ecstatic pleasure, and he did not dare break the kiss he shared with his wife.

"_My wife."_

He sighed into her mouth as he placed her on the bed, the corners of his lips turning up as he felt her hands roaming over his chest, frantically working to unbutton his shirt and vest. He easily threw his coat and vest off before helping her with his shirt, stopping midway as he was struck by the sudden realization that he was going to reveal himself to her, completely.

"Erik," she moaned sweetly, sending his mind into turmoil as he fought the urge to take her at that very instant.

"I…I'm not…Erik has never-…he, that is-" he stammered, stunned to silence as she attacked him with another hungry kiss. She guided his arms towards her collar, forcing him to help her undress.

"I don't care what you look like, I thought you understood that," she whispered in his ear before nibbling his lobe mischievously, hearing him hiss in strained delight. "No one's looked at me either…and I'm…well, nervous," she blushed as she confessed.

"Erik shan't harm you," he promised her, closing his eyes as he indulged himself, softly pushing her sleeves down to expose her creamy, appealing torso in her undergarments. "He is…quite new to all this."

"You certainly don't act like it," she giggled as she ran her finger down his jaw over his neck towards his exposed chest.

"You make Erik…_rabid_," he growled, claiming her mouth once more. Running his fingers through her hair, he felt her surrender to his caresses, making his heart swell with unbridled happiness. She loved him…he loved her…and they were bound together, for all time.

"Erik," she whispered as he continued to kiss her through the night. "Erik…"

"_Je t'aime,_ Angelique," he breathed, over and over again, as if it were a sacred prayer that he could not get enough of. "_Je t'aime…_"

**~OG~**

The sun peaked through the curtains, teasing their closed eyes as it slowly lit up the room. Erik grumbled as he tossed his arm over his eyes, grimacing at the light. "_Merde_," he cursed. "Since when do I get light down here-?"

"Good morning, _mon mari_," a sultry, low voice murmured in his ear, making him freeze at once. He removed his arm from his face, his eyes widening at the sight of Angelique lying beside him, her hand placed over his bare, skinny chest, her cheeks flushed pleasantly as she smiled coyly at him. Her hair hung around her face, most of the curls gone, though they wavered around her cheeks. She was positively glowing, soft and warm as she pressed herself against him. "You look as if you'd seen a ghost, Erik," she giggled, kissing his cheek.

"_Mon Dieu_…it wasn't a dream," he gasped, grasping her and holding her tightly against his frame.

"Must I pinch you to ensure you that this is all very real?" she sighed, kissing his lips fervently. "I love you," she murmured, placing her head upon the crook of his shoulder. "God help me, I love you so much."

His eyes stung with tears as he listened to her, his hold tightening as he kissed her temple. "I…I love you, _mon ange_…more than I can ever say."

"Prove it," she said softly, a hint of playful challenge creeping into her voice.

"What?" he asked, stunned.

"We still have several hours before we need to leave for London…prove you love me." Her eyes twinkled devilishly, sending his blood racing through his veins. She gave a frighten scream as he leapt upon her, causing her to laugh as he ravished her with his hands.

"You shouldn't tempt Erik so, Angelique," he warned her, his breath tickling her neck. "You are dealing with an untamed beast."

"Yes, I found that out last night, but you were rather docile," she smirked, earning a dark smile from him.

"Erik wished for the first time to be docile…he is not so tame now, however – you've ruined that."

"Oh dear," she feigned concern.

"I shall prove to you how much I love you," he vowed with a dark chuckle, sending shivers down her spines. He bit his lip as she dug her fingernails into his back, a rush of excitement coursing through him. "Each and every night…I'll prove it to you."

**~OG~**

The two of them waved as the boat took off, their eyes upon the figures that came to wish them off that afternoon. "You don't suppose Paien will miss us terribly?" Angelique asked, blowing a kiss to her adopted family.

"Oh, he'll miss us…but fret not, _mon ange_, we shall see him again shortly," Erik promised, kissing her hand. "He's in good hands. The Jouberts love him as much as we do."

The breeze mussed Angelique's hair so that it caressed Erik's cheek, allowing him to smell her faint perfume. Wearing his skin mask, he kissed her lips on the deck, ignoring the other passengers. "What shall we do when we arrive in London?"

"Go to bed," she suggested, catching a glimmer in his eyes as he stiffened. "Not _that_ way," she scolded him, slapping his shoulder playfully. "I mean _rest_. We'll be exhausted when we arrive."

"Ah," he said lightly, grinning as he saw her blush. Chuckling, he held her close, feeling her warmth envelope him despite the cold November air. The memory of a vision floated through his mind as he ran his fingers through her hair. "…Angelique…what if…what if we…had children?" he dared to ask, choking on the last word.

"I expect they would go to school, obviously," she answered calmly. "I'd like to continue being a seamstress, but I want to take time off to stay with the babies at home-"

"You're…_all right_ with the idea?" he asked, raising both eyebrows. Somewhere deep in his gut, he knew she would be, but hearing her say it out loud, as if it were the most normal topic to discuss…!

"Of course I am," she frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"But…what if they…what if they-?"

"If they look like you?" she whispered, reaching up and touching his face. "…I'll fight for them. I don't give a damn what they look like, they'll be my children and they'll have my love."

He gawked at her as she cursed, her eyes burning brightly as she spoke with intense passion. His heart ached as he remembered his own mother, frightened to death of him… "What if they hate me?" he whispered.

She kissed him once more, embracing him tightly. "They will hate if you hate them…show them love and they will return your affections, Erik. Don't be afraid…"

"No…I won't be," he said softly, closing his eyes as they stung with tears. "… as long as I have you with me." He smiled as she snuggled herself into his embrace, casting his gaze towards the grey sky, the sun fighting to peer through the clouds at them. No, he would not be afraid…not completely, anyways…so long as she was beside him.

* * *

**A/N: ...**Well, they _did_ just get married, and poor Erik's been denied any sort of happiness/pleasure all his life, especially in this category... ^_^ Please excuse me, I'm not all that great with "sexy" stuff, I just want to give you a taste of what's going on and then let you imagine all the fun they could have had on your own time ;) By the way, Erik's song to Angelique translated it, "You are my joy, your are my life, my love you'll have always, I love you, my wife". Cheesy? YES! Hope you have fun and please let me know what you think! See you in the next chapter!


	32. Bliss and Babies

**Chapter Thirty-Two – Bliss and Babies**

A fortnight after their departure, _le Comte et Comtesse Chevalier_ disembarked from their carriage and entered their estate as dusk took hold of Paris.

"It will be Christmas soon," Angelique mused, stepping into the darkened house. "I'll have to go shopping…do you suppose we could have a party? Invite the others?"

"A party," Erik chuckled, taking his hat off before assisting his wife with her wrap. "I never imaged I would be hosting a party, much less with you. Of course, Angelique, we may have a party."

"Good," a voice in the dark parlor said, the room suddenly ablaze in light. Erik had a reeling sense of _dejavu_ as all those dear to them leapt out from behind their hiding places and grinned, shouting out, "Welcome home!"  
"_Mon Dieu_," he uttered, gaping at them with wide eyes.

"What a lovely surprise!" Angelique beamed, running to the girls and embracing each of them.

"One too many surprises and parties, if you ask me," Erik shook his head, coughing as Raoul smacked him playfully upon the back.

"Don't be such a stick in the mud, _mon ami_," the Vicomte grinned, earning a murderous glare from Erik. "It's nice to have you back."

"_Nice to have you back." _

He had never imagined Raoul de Chagny would be declaring this, much less even mean it, but he did, and it made him…dare he say it, _happy_? He was surrounded by a sea of smiling faces, with an exuberant dog yipping at his heels, ecstatic at his master's return. "I had no idea we were missed."

"Don't be snippy, Erik," Philippe chuckled. "Of course we missed you both."

"Tell us about the trip, my man!" Adelshire beamed, motioning for them to move towards the fire. "How was it? Did you enjoy it?"

"Did you see any operas or plays in England, Maestro?!" Adrien asked.

Erik let them bombard him with questions, answering as simply as he could as he slowly grew accustomed to the attention he was receiving. He accepted the glass of wine, the kisses from his pet pooch, the grins and laughter of his comrades…he smiled slowly, sipping his drink. It felt good to be home.

**~OG~**

"Angelique!" the _corps de ballet_ screeched in delight as they ran to their seamstress-turned-mistress. "Welcome home!"

"You couldn't have missed me that much!" she laughed, kissing each girl chastely on the cheek or forehead.

"Oh, but we did! We did!" the younger ones cried out, tugging at her fine dress and cloak as she entered the dormitories.

"Then I have gifts to reward you for your patience and love," she grinned, motioning for the stagehands to walk in with the boxes of little trinkets and souvenirs from the British Isles. The girls were instantly thrown into a greedy, excited frenzy, thanking the young woman for her kindness and generosity. The stagehands stayed behind, helping pass out the gifts, shaking their heads and chuckling in amusement at the girls' reactions. Before they left, Angelique placed her hand on one of the men's shoulders and whispered in his ear, "That last box I told you to leave outside is for all you gentlemen from Comte Chevalier. Think of it as an early Christmas gift."

"A gift?" the man asked, raising an eyebrow.

"_Madame_," one of the boys called, sticking his head in the room. "The wine and food out here, should we bring it in?"

The stagehand gawked at Angelique, who winked at him. "Remember, _moderation_," she said sternly, referring to the drinks. "Otherwise, my husband will not be so generous or understanding the next time around."

He nodded his head violently, tipping his hat to her. "_Oui, Comtesse_!" he promised, hurrying out to join his fellow workers.

"You're spoiling everyone, you know," Sorelli scowled as she entered the dormitories, Meg hot on her heels. "If you start pampering them-"

"It's just a way to celebrate our wedding with those who weren't invited," winked Angelique. "Speaking of inviting, I don't suppose you two would be interested in helping me plan the Christmas party?"

"Of course!" Meg smiled, her face lighting up. "Will Christine help-?"

"Yes, I made her promise," Angelique laughed, embracing the dancer.

Sorelli chuckled, sighing as she absentmindedly ran her hand over her belly. The girls caught the action and sent her a wide-eyed look, causing her to blush. "…it's only a suspicion!" she hissed. "You can't tell, not yet! I need to check with the doctor."

Meg giggled. "How exciting!"

"Oh! I wanted to check the new shipment that came in yesterday," Angelique gasped, snapping her fingers as she remembered. "I'll be in my workroom."

"Can we visit you later?" Cosette called out as she heard Angelique state she was leaving. "Oh, please?! And you can tell us more about London?"

As the other little ballet rats begged and pleaded, the Comtesse smiled in defeat. "Very well, but I'll need some time for myself first, so I can organize the majority of the fabrics, understood?" They all chirped their promises, sending Sorelli's eyes rolling. Laughing, Angelique waved as she left the room, gathering her skirts into her hands before walking out. No sooner had she made it down the hall, she could hear the soft patter of delicate feet following her.

"Angelique, wait!" Jammes called out, making her wince.

"_Oh dear Lord…"_ "Jammes? Is something wrong?" she asked innocently, embracing the girl as she came to her side.

"Oh, no! Everything's fine," she smiled brightly. "Thank you for the necklace! How was your trip?"

"Lovely, thank you," she answered, relaxing a bit. Perhaps she wasn't going to say it-

"The Phantom missed you!"

Never mind.

"_Pardon_?" she asked, struggling not to grimace before the girl.

"He hasn't shown up in days since you got married and left!" Jammes explained, following after her stead as she walked back to the workroom. "And just this morning, I was walking down one of the passages until I reached your room and I heard him sigh, _'Angelique! Mon ange…'_ He's missed you! He's in love with you!"

"_Erik!"_ she wanted to scream. Jammes was beaming rather smugly, irking Angelique for the first time since they had known one another. "The Phantom of the Opera does _not_ miss seamstresses," she insisted coolly, her eyes falling upon the door, just a few steps away.

"But you're so much more than a seamstress!" the girl insisted. "Can't you see? He's probably heartbroken! Things have been so much better in the _Palais_ since you came and stayed here."

"_Mon cher_, you are dreaming-"

"Then what about when the Ghost stole you away that night I was with you in the hall?" she jeered. "I looked away for an instant and you were gone! Vanished!"

"I hid away behind a pillar," she lied. "I just wanted to scare you. I didn't think you'd actually fall for it-!"

"That's not true! I know you're lying!" she pouted, stomping her foot. "I think you like the Ghost as much as he likes you – you just won't admit it."

Angelique sighed, shaking her head. "Jammes, the only way to prove that the Opera Ghost was in love with me is if you managed to get him to step out and show himself-"

A thin, gloved hand shot out from the shadows, grasping her hand in a swift, coveted manner. Jammes's dark eyes widened, her jaw dropping as she caught sight of a tall silhouette hidden in the darkness, the only things visible were a white mask that covered most of his face, a wide-brimmed fedora that shadowed his masked face, his fluttering cloak, and a set of golden, catlike eyes.

"Angelique…" his voice slithered out of his lips silkily, causing the two girls to shiver. He took her hand and kissed it before withdrawing a single red rose from the folds of his billowing cape and placing it in her fingers. He gave a sharp tug, yanking her into the dark and taking hold of her chin, chuckling as she gasped at his actions. "No matter what, my little seamstress, you are mine," his velvety voice rumbled seductively. With a quick tilt of his head, he stole a kiss from her before the ballerina before releasing her and bowing before casting a wicked grin at Jammes's direction, winking before he disappeared into a cloud of unexplainable mist.

They stood there, frozen stock still – Jammes gaping at the dark corner in which the Ghost had revealed himself to her, Angelique gripping the rose she had received and reeling from the kiss she had earned. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to swoon or rip his head off, but either way, she was going to have to scold him for encouraging Jammes's already wild imagination.

"…is he…?" the girl asked, timidly reaching out and waving her arm into the void. She waited, half-expectant that something would jump out at her. When she was quite satisfied that he was absolutely gone, she glanced over at Angelique, blinking out of her stupor and fighting to regain her composure.

"Ah…um, Jammes? I don't suppose there's any way I could convince you not to say anything to the others…?" Angelique blushed, her stomach twisting in a knot as she saw the teenaged child squeal in delight.

"I _told_ you!" Jammes beamed. "Don't worry, _I_ won't say anything, but you'd better watch out, he might do it in front of the others next time!"

"Oh _merde_," she cursed, watching the dancer scurry away giddily. Heaving an exhausted sigh, she continued down the hall until she arrived in her dear little workroom, locking the door after her. Instantly, his arms materialized around her, pulling her towards his body. "Erik!" she gasped, startled by his presence, though she knew she shouldn't have been. "Good God, Erik, what you did back there-?!"

"It was all in good fun," he reassured her soothingly, his voice almost hypnotic as he began to kiss her neck. "The little ballet rat wouldn't leave you be until she saw what she wanted…and besides, the 'Ghost' instigated the little kiss, not you." He laughed merrily against her skin, raising goosebumps as he muttered, "To think she finds it _romantic_…"

"Erik, I should slap you for doing that in front of her – she'll never stop pestering n-Oh!" she choked, her eyes rolling back as he breathed behind her ear and ran his hands lavishly over her stomach. "S-s-she'll s-start to spread-d ru-mors!" she fought back, swooning as he kissed her sensuously. She grabbed onto his shoulders, her knees weakening against her will as he swept her into his arms.

"Let her," he murmured. "None of the girls will believe her…I don't suppose they'd notice if you'd gone missing for an hour or two?"

"Erik…" she moaned against his lips, his body warming at the sound of her voice uttering his name. Somehow, he maneuvered his way to the wall and opened the passage, slipping inside with her wife, kidnapping her to the depths of his dark, hidden abode…

**~OG~**

_One Month Later…_

The snow continued to fall lightly on the brightly lit houses of the Parisian streets. The Chevalier household was included here, as the sounds of music, laughter, and a hearty fire crackling melted all together behind the frosted windowpanes.

"This really is charming," Christine smiled, her hand running over the little bulge that had appeared as her belly slowly but surely began to grow. "It was a lovely idea to have us over for Christmas supper."

"Considering the grand party we threw nearly a week ago, I didn't think your husband would want to have us over again so soon," Sorelli snickered. Her stomach, also, began to poke out, though Christine's was significantly more noticeable.

"I think Erik secretly likes these gatherings," Angelique winked as she offered the girls more tea and cider. "He's not very social, though, so he can't always express himself or join in as easily."

"That's debatable," Mary giggled, nodding at the group of men on the other side of the room as they smoked their pipes and drank merrily, discussing a myriad of topics by the hearth.

"And now _you_ have been proposed to," Meg beamed, turning their attention to Becca. "I never thought Nadir would ask!"

"Neither did I, considering how silent and solitary he is," she blushed.

"It's all so wonderful," Mary blushed, glancing over at Adrien, who in turn cast a secret glance in her direction.

"_Oui_, it is," Juliette Giry bobbed her head in agreement, accepting an embrace from the side from the young Comtesse. "You have changed, _mon cher_. You've become a beautiful young woman."

"If it wasn't for your kindness, I wouldn't have made it this far," Angelique insisted, remembering that snowy night, just a year ago, when Madame Giry had found her outside in the slush. "You have become very dear to me…all of you."

"I never imagined our lives would become so cheery once the master had passed on," Fanette sighed. "He was lonely most of the time, and then of course he fell ill…oh, forgive me, dear Angelique, but you're the daughter I never had!"

"Thank you…I like to think you've become my new mother, you know," she smiled, embracing the old woman and kissing her cheek. "And you as well, of course," she laughed as Madame Giry pouted until she received her own kiss.

"Then you'll forgive me if I ask out of turn…" The cook raised her eyebrow at the girl, a gleeful smile on her lips. "Did you tell him yet?"

Angelique shook her head, her shining hair shaking around her face as she blushed. "No…I wanted to tell him this morning after you checked but…oh, I don't know. I wanted to find the right moment."

"There's no time like the present," Christine offered. "Go on."

Taking a deep breath, Angelique held her head high and strode over to the men, her skirts swishing rhythmically.

"Ah, here is the princess now!" Nadir winked, kissing her hand as she joined their circle. "Thank you for always opening your doors to us."

"Of course, Nadir – you're all family," she smiled, squeezing his hand gently before turning to Erik. "Erik…I should like to speak with you for a moment…alone?"

He raised an eyebrow at her but nodded, setting his violin down as he walked off to join her. "Stay, Paien," he ordered the loyal canine, watching him sit his bottom on the polished floor. "Good dog…" He placed his arm around her and led her towards the empty dining room, shutting the door after him before taking a step towards her. "What's wrong?"

"What? Oh, nothing's wrong," she reassured him, shaking her head. "If fact…everything is fine…or, it will be in a few months."

"Months?" he echoed, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Erik," she breathed, taking his hands in hers. "You like creating things, don't you? Well…you created something…inside of me."

"What the devil are you…?" His eyes widened substantially, his jaw dropping. "…no…it couldn't be-!" He froze as she took his hands and placed them on her belly, squeezing his fingers as if to get the message across. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to look her in the eye. "…when…when did you find out?"

"This morning," she whispered. "Fanette used to be a midwife, you know…it explains why I was so sick these past few days…and my temper." She blushed, bowing her head as she remembered the occasional, unexplainable spurts of frustration, anger, and exhaustion she felt for no apparent reason. "…I'm pregnant." It was redundant to say it, but she felt the need to speak it, as thought it would finally make the idea real.  
"Pregnant…!"

"_Mon Dieu_," he muttered, falling to his knees. He was trembling now as he rested his forehead against her belly, the idea of a small person lying inside of her because of him frightening and appealing all at once. "If…if he…or she…if the baby looks like…_me_, then-"

"Then we will love him or her, together," she whispered, running her fingers through his hair as he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close. "I know it's frightening…I'm worried, just because I've never…well, you know…never had children, _obviously_," she blushed. "…but the child is ours, Erik…and that's all that matters." She knelt down, joining him at his level and kissed his lips. "No matter what, we'll love our baby."

"Yes…yes, I know we will," he mumbled, trancelike as he spoke. The flicker of fear remained inside him, however, leaving him to silently fight on whether he should be happy or scared out of his wits for the poor, unborn soul.

**~OG~**

_Five Months Later…_

"You're certain you don't mind changing this room for the baby?" Angelique asked, looking around Christine's old room. It would be a shame to change it, but she was adamant that one of the rooms in Erik's underground house – now used as a sort of vacation home, as well as private office – have a place for their child.

"Of course I don't mind," he answered as he joined her in the room, unrolling a parchment before her, an elaborate design for the new room scribbled on the surface. "It's for the…_baby_." He still had difficulty with the word, and deep down she knew he was petrified for the baby, that he or she should come out looking just like him.

"Oh!" she gasped, her hands falling upon her ever growing belly.

"What is it?" he asked, his head whipped towards her as she exclaimed the word.

"He – or she – is kicking again," she grinned, rubbing her stomach as she felt the little one within her wriggle around. "Erik, give me your hand."

"I don't think-" he protested, his arm falling limp as she grabbing him and placed his hand on her stomach.

There was no movement now, the child perfectly still within her.

"Sing something, Erik," she insisted.

He shook his head. "Angelique, my love, I don't thi-OH!" He almost leapt back as the baby shifted and kicked at the sound of his voice, moving towards the warmth of his hand. Angelique giggled at his reaction, watching his worry melt away as a smile of wonder grew on his thin, yellow lips. "He's feisty…like his mother."

"He?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I just…had a feeling," he shrugged, blinking in surprise as the baby continued to move under his touch.

"Sing for him, then," she pleaded, her eyes glistening with excitement.

He sighed, a sweet lullaby dancing from his lips and enveloping the three of them in its soft, beautiful cocoon. Erik couldn't stop the smile on his face as he imagined feeling the baby's hand stretching for his own. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad after all…

**~OG~**

_Four Months Later…_

He wanted out _now_.

The blasted baby couldn't have waited another minute. Oh no, he interrupted the performance in the middle of _The Magic Flute_, as Angelique's water broke and contractions started to plague her.

"_Mon Dieu!_…Erik, it's time," she hissed, grasping her stomach violently as she gripped his arm.

It was too risky to try and get her to the house underground, and there was no telling what could happen if he tried to get her to their home, so it was that he managed to help her out of Box Five and lock themselves in Becca's dressing room.

"What is it?" the Persian demanded, entering without knocking.

For once, Erik was grateful that he was so nosy. "The baby…is…coming," Erik gasped, helping Angelique lie down on the divan. "Get a doctor – now!"

Within fifteen minutes, Nadir had brought in their physician – who, thankfully and unfortunately, had decided to enjoy tonight's performance at the _Garnier Opera_ – and set to work at once. Moments later, Madame Giry and Fanette burst into the scene.

"Get him out!" Fanette demanded of Nadir as Angelique started screaming. Madame Giry was already pouring out a tea that was supposed to help with the pain, all the while searching for a gag if necessary.

"_No!_" Erik snarled when a sudden burst of pain spread through his neck and lower skull, causing him to sink to the floor. When he awoke, Nadir, Lamar, and Adelshire surrounded him, their faces full of concern as the muffled screams of his wife resounded in the backstage passages. "Angel-ique," he said, his voice slurred as his vision continued to swim. "Let me-"

"She'll probably gouge your eyes if you try to go in there and see her," Nadir warned him.

"She's doing fine," Rupert Adelshire promised as a rather long, strangled cry reached their ears.

"Lies," he grimaced, forcing himself to sit up, only to have his head pound with pain. "Damn it all to hell!" he cursed, falling back against the wall. "Daroga, what do you do-?!"

"I had to get you out, and you wouldn't come willingly…I _am_ sorry," he apologized.

"What did you hit me with?" he growled, reaching up and delicately touching his scalp.

"The ottoman," he answered, almost smiling at him, which only fueled his anger and panic as each second passed.

"I have…to help her!" he gasped.

Lamar touched his arm, shaking his head. "_Non, mon ami_…she'll be all right. She's strong."

"But…" His eyes pricked with tears despite his best efforts. Some women died in childbirth – sometimes the children with them. What if he was left all alone, just like that, and it would be all his own fault-?

"_Merde_!" Lamar gasped, all four men gaping as a baby's cries replaced Angelique. The three friends sighed in relief and grinned, helping Erik to his feet.

"Oh good, he's awake!" Madame Giry chirped as she poked her head out into the hall, opening the door for them. "Come inside…there's someone your wife wants you to meet, monsieur."

"How long…was I out?" Erik asked warily, glaring at the Persian.

"Six hours," Nadir smirked. "After I rendered you unconscious, I had Lamar and Rupert make a tonic that would keep you in your slumbering state a while longer. Whenever you would stir, we'd make you drink some."

"You all _drugged_ me?!" he nearly roared, enjoying the looks of terror on their faces when a gleeful gurgle made him freeze. His eyes moved slowly towards the source, his heart aching as he saw Angelique, covered with blankets and lying on the divan, holding a bundle in her arms.

"Congratulations, Comte Chevalier," the doctor said, shaking hands with him. "It's a healthy baby boy. He shared a few words with the others before departing and promising to return in the morning, but Erik hear nothing. He stumbled forth, feeling as though he was trudging through mud, until he fell at his knees by Angelique's side.

"Erik," Angelique sighed, her hair sticking to her sweaty, shining face. She breathed deeply, clearly exhausted from the ordeal, but her eyes glistened. "Look at him…look at our son." She moved the blanket from the baby's head, displaying a soft white face with a wisp of chestnut hair forming on his tiny head. The baby's face was unusually angular, but it was a normal face, with bright stormy-blue eyes that blinking at Erik. He smiled at once, gurgling gleefully as he reached his tiny hand for his father's face.

"Our son," Erik choked, unconsciously reaching for the child's tiny fingers. He let the baby grip his thin forefinger, laughing as the child took his hand to his little mouth and suckled on it. "He's…perfect." He silently thanked God that the child was normal – no gaping hole where a nose should be, no terrifying eyes that glowed in the dark, no thin, transparent lips…no, with the exception of his defined facial structure, there was nothing that could pinpoint him as a freak, a monster…and if there had been, he would have loved him either way, and made a mask to protect his child.

"You can hold him, you know," she said softly, laughing softly as he stared at her in horror. "Just be sure to hold the head…here, I'll show you…"

Despite his feeble protests, he allowed her to place the child in his arms, his chest swelling with pride as he held the tiny figure that clung to him for dear life.

"My, my…" he could hear Adelshire chuckle.

"What is his name?" Fanette asked, giddy with excitement.

"Gerard," Angelique told them. "His name is Gerard…my father's name."

Erik blocked them all out – all except Angelique. Her voice floated to his ears each time she managed to speak, but the world around him dissolved as he smiled at the baby boy that lay contentedly in his arms, placing all the love and trust he possessed in this stranger that he would call "father". "Gerard…welcome home, Gerard."


	33. Hope of the Future

**A/N: **Thank you to my reviewers for always letting me know what you thought of the story :) I own nothing except the OCs. I expect there will be the next chapter within the next day or two, which will conclude this story, so I thank you all for hanging in there with me and enjoying. Until next time!

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Three – Hope of the Future**

"Isn't he a darling?!" cooed Mary as she and the other girls visited Angelique. She was seated comfortably in her bed now, having been nearly twenty-four hours since little Gerard forced his way into this world. He blinked amiably at the doting females, snuggling into his mother's bosom when he got tired at looking at them.

"He'll be having playmates over in a few years," Christine grinned, giggling as she held her own little boy in her arms. Cyrille had his parents' beautiful blue eyes and little blonde curls forming on his head, growing rapidly since his birth a month and a half prior. Likewise, Sorelli's son, Mathis, was growing quickly, constantly whining for more milk to her disappointment. He shared his father's startling grey eyes while dark hair was sprouting all over his scalp.

"Oh, such little treasures," Becca sighed.

"Oh yes, until they cry in the wee hours of the morning," Sorelli smirked. "Then you start having second thoughts."

"But you still love him," Meg stated.

Sorelli sighed, kissing her child's forehead. "Yes…yes, I do."

"How does Erik feel about him?" asked Christine, curious as to his reaction about the child. She had never pictured him to be the fatherly type, but then again, she never imagined he would be married.

"Why don't you see for yourselves?" she grinned. "Erik!" she called out, startling Gerard so much that he wailed for a few moments. "I'm sorry…don't worry, Papa will be here soon," she reassured her little one.

At once he was in the room, quickly greeting the girls before rushing to Angelique's side. "What is it? What's wrong?" he demanded, catching sight of the sniveling bundle.

"Oh, he won't stop crying…I think he wants you," she said innocently, offering him the baby.

His hands shook as he reached for the child, becoming firm and sturdy once the babe rested his head against his chest, his cries dwindling to a whimper as Erik sang softly to him. He dozed off at last, snuggling into his father's arms.

"Ohhhh!" the women all sighed and swooned, causing him to grimace as he realized he had shown himself to be so vulnerable.

"Honestly," he muttered, rolling his eyes. He earned a coy wink from Angelique, causing him to pout until he felt the baby in his arms mumble in his sleep. "Hush, little one," he murmured tenderly, sitting beside his wife on the bed. "We're here…we love you, don't we, _mon ange_?"

"With all our hearts," she vowed, kissing Erik's cheek before bending down to plant a soft kiss on her child's tiny, warm head. "Always…"

**~OG~**

_Ten Years Later…_

"Papa, Papa!" the little boy cried, tackling his father's legs as he entered the fine house.

Erik grunted, struggling to balance his wares as he entered his abode. "Gerard, I need some room-!"

"Papa, I finished my composition! I want to play it for you? Mama said I could!"

At once, Erik's eyes lit up and he wriggled an arm free of the parcels so that he could take his son by the hand. "Show me!" he insisted, just as gleeful as the boy. He let the child drag him off into the drawing room when suddenly, many figures jumped out of their hiding places.

"Surprise!" they cried out, nearly causing Erik to leap onto the ceiling and hiss like a cat.

"_Mon Dieu_, will you never stop with these infernal 'surprises'?!" he snapped, only causing the others to laugh merrily. Try as he might, he was always taken off guard whenever an event was planned and made a "surprise", and no matter what he said, deep down, he enjoyed the times when they did do such little events in his honor.

"Happy birthday, Papa!" Gerard grinned. "I _was_ telling the truth, though-!"

"Papa! Papa!" two little girls giggled, rushing towards him from their mother's side.

"My little muses!" Erik cooed, falling to his knees and throwing the items aside so that he could embrace his daughters. The twins were approaching the age of four rather rapidly, their affections and control over their father growing with each passing day. Marceline had been born first, with the same dark tresses her father had while her mother's grey-blue eyes glistened. Rosette hurried soon after, her hair a glossy chestnut-red like her mother, while her eyes were an odd, entrancing golden hue, captivating everyone. "Paien!" he exclaimed, meaning to scold the full-grown black-haired mutt, ending up laughing instead as the canine licked him affectionately. "Down, boy…Did you help plan this party for Papa, girls?"

"Yes, yes!" the giggled in unison.

"Papa, please?" Gerard asked, his blue-grey eyes pleading for his father's attention.

He chuckled, mussing the boy's light brown hair. "Yes, my son, I would love to hear it. Go to the piano – go on! Play it for everyone."

"All right, but know that it's only for you," he said stubbornly, running away in time to miss a tear that leaked from Erik's eyes.

"Happy birthday, Erik," Angelique breathed into his ear, sending chills down his spine.

He turned to her and kissed her chastely, fighting the urge to ravage her mouth in front of the children and guests. "You little minx," he whispered, chuckling as he caressed her cheek with his knuckles. "You didn't have to do this."

"You needed cheering up," she insisting, helping him gather his parcels off the floor.

"No, no, allow us," Lamar insisted, motioning for his wife to join him.

"Thank you," Angelique nodded, returning her attention to her husband. "Girls, why don't you help Aunt Christine bring out the cake?"

"Yes, Mama!" they giggled, running off in an instant.

Angelique accepted Erik's help, inhaling deeply as she stood up. She had yet another baby on the way, but she wasn't going to let anything stop her from going about her life. She rested her head against his shoulder, remembering the tragic event of nearly a month ago. "…I know you miss him sorely, darling…but he's never really gone."

"I know," he whispered, his stomach twisting into a knot.

A month…for a month, his friend, his partner, his fatherly figure had been gone. Rupert Adelshire had been suffering from a terrible cough for the past two years, most likely from his addiction to a good cigar and his trusty pipe, and then one day, he didn't wake up. Erik and Mary had been crushed the most from the tragic news but found solace in one another. They had been working together as partners since she moved to Paris after Erik's marriage to Angelique, running the _Palais Garnier_ like a well-oiled machine…not that they didn't have their occasional disputes, but for most of their days, they were happy to work together. With Adelshire's passing, he bequeathed his wealth to his daughter and full ownership of the opera to Erik, though he asked that he continue to work with an train his precious granddaughter. Erik was only too happy to comply with this request, but for a long time, he mourned the loss of his dear friend.

"He wouldn't want you to mourn, Erik," she said gently, watching him as he took her hand and reverently kissed it.

He sighed, running his fingers through her hair. "Erik has become so…accustomed to happiness that he almost forgot about…death, tragedy, pain, sadness…" His eyes swept across the room, catching sight of the children that frolicked and giggled in his house. There was Cyrille, Christine and Raoul's son; Mathis, Philippe and Sorelli's little boy; Suri, Nadir and Becca's charming daughter; Gaspard and Dominque, the identical twin brother and sister duo from Henri and Meg; and finally, little Jonathan, stumbling around his little legs as he followed his parents, Adrien and Mary. And then of course, there were his little girls and his bright son…

Gerard's music floated through the air on the piano, filled with happy, skipping notes that seemed to urge him to smile. So it was that his lips twitched upward as he kissed his wife once more. "You're right, mon cher…he wouldn't want us to be sad." Hugging her to his frame, he waited for the throng to return with his birthday cake, enjoying the feel of Angelique's heartbeat against his own. Life was good…

**~OG~**

_Six Months Later…_

He couldn't believe it.

He was stock still in terror as he saw the child. _"No…it wasn't supposed to be like this!"_ How could it have taken such a dark turn? Raoul and Christine shared two fair-haired and beautiful children, Cyrille and Christia, the latter recently born just a few months prior. Adrien and Mary had recently received their own new addition as well – a second son which they named Lamar, after his scarred grandfather. Erik and Angelique's newest baby…he was supposed to be happy and beautiful, just like the other three they had…

While his skin color was normal, his eyes were black as night, with flecks of shocking gold as they stared back at Erik, with unbridled curiosity. The nose had not yet been fully formed, stopping half-way so that a small stub poked out, the two nostril holes still quite visible and gaping. He had hair as black a night already forming on his tiny skull, and at least his lips weren't transparent like his own, but still…

"Forgive me," Erik wept, falling to his knees at Angelique's bedside. He repeated it, over and over, both to his wife and newborn son. "Forgive me…"

"Erik…"

He slowly raised his head, tears of agony spilling down his face when he stopped, seeing how she gazed at the child. The baby blinked at his mother, as if waiting for her to say something.

"…my dear, darling little Erik," she cooed, smiling brightly at him. "You are handsome…and you're mine…and your Papa's…" The baby blinked at her once more when a musical, tantalizing laugh rang out through the room, trickling out of his lips. "Erik…hold him," she pleaded, her eyes full of love and longing.

"H-He's…you're not…?" he stammered.

"He's perfect, just like the others," she insisted, kissing the baby's head. "He needs his Papa…"

Erik couldn't think as to why he did it, but his hands moved towards his white mask and he removed it slowly, showing his true face to the baby. The child did not scream, nor cry…he only stared a moment, as if puzzled, before something flickered in his eyes – recognition? – and he stretched his hands out, wiggling his tiny, thin fingers at his father, as if to say, "Come closer!" Erik obeyed, taking the child in his grasp, as he had for his first three children and kissed his forehead, shivering as the baby giggled and gurgled gleefully before closing his eyes and sleeping in his arms. "…what did you call him just now?" Erik asked, facing his wife once more.

"Erik…I wanted to name him Erik before he was even born…but, if that bothers you-" she started, blushing as she realized how he might feel about it.

"Erik…Erik the Second," he repeated, stiffening just a bit as the baby cooed in his sleep. He ran his fingertips over the child's dark hair, a weak smile growing on his grotesque face. "…we will love little Erik, won't we?"

"I didn't plan on doing anything other than that," she whispered, leaning towards him. "Kiss me before I faint." He did as he was told and sat down beside her as she closed her eyes, resting for just a moment. Softly, he sang for the two of them, plans already running through his mind. "You are lucky, my son…but not _that_ lucky," he sighed, rocking the baby to and fro. "But fret not…your Mama and I love you…and I shall do everything in my power to make things right for you…as my parents never did."

**~OG~**

_Five Years Later…_

"Madeleine, don't twirl so much!" Angelique scolded her little three-year-old daughter as she precariously spun around by the kitchen table. Her rich red curls whipped around her face as she moved, her eyes large and black as she looked back up at her mother.

"But Mama!" she whined, as she usually did when her Mama told her not to do something.

"_Non_," Angelique warned her. "I am not going to clean up another mess because you want to play ballerina." She had already had to move the items in the kitchen from one place to another for fear that her daughter might accidentally knock into something and send it flying onto the floor. The kitchen in Erik's underground home was not as spacious as the one in their home aboveground, which meant that little Madeleine would have to wait to dance. She and Mary's youngest child, Marie, had very bad habits of spinning on their toes and not checking where they were heading towards.

"Papa lets me dance," she pouted, plopping down on the floor in a most undignified manner.

"Papa keeps all his possessions locked away so there are no accidents," she smirked. "I want to finish Gerard's birthday cake without anymore interruptions!"

No sooner had the words left her mouth, she heard the front door open, the rush of feet hurrying to greet their visitor.

"Papa!" she heard her children call out in unison, their voices blending as though they were an angelic choir. She shivered as she heard him chuckle, a certain warmth spreading through her body. She couldn't fathom just how he was able to make her feel so young, so _alive_, after all these years, but he did. Fighting her urge to run to him as well, she took the cake out of the oven and set it on the stove, covering it with a cloth when a pair of lips placed themselves on her neck. She felt the hairs on her body rise at once, her eyes shutting instantly as she gave into his embrace. "Erik…"

"I'm home," he murmured, turning her around so that he could look into her eyes. She was surprised to see him in his old white mask, the one that left his lips and chin exposed, but it brought back a flood of memories to her.

"Where were you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow accusingly at him.

"My pocket watch needed polishing," he said lightly, pulling the item from his vest pocket. It was his first pocket watch, the golden one that had fallen into retirement once he had received her father's pocket watch as a wedding gift. "It's his present."

She beamed at him, kissing his lips. Gerard was a young man now, sixteen to be precise, and his best friends Cyrille and Mathis already owned their own pocket watches. Gerard was a humble boy, never asking for anything that wasn't necessary, but Erik took great pride in him and got him whatever his friends had nevertheless. Gerard, just like his brother and sisters, adored his father, even with his grotesque face. He had inherited a gift for composing and playing the piano, he had ingenious designs that he had sent in to many architectural competitions (and won nearly all of them), and he had a sharp eye for details when it came to assisting his father and their "aunt" Mary Adelshire in managing the opera house.

"Where are they now?" she asked, noticing how quiet it was in the house.

"I told them to go upstairs and find Suri…she's waiting to take them to Henri's home. They've set up another awful 'surprise' party." He rolled his eyes. "With all these 'surprises', it's a miracle we're still able to be surprised."

"Erik, I haven't gotten the cake ready yet," she frowned. "We should be going with them."

"The children are going to play games – our friends won't be there for another two hours or so," he reassured her. "Meg and Christine will be keeping watch over them."

"Oh…well then," she shrugged, still feeling that there was something he was keeping from her. "How is Jammes doing?"

"Madame Cecile is utterly insufferable, as per usual," he grumbled, shaking his head. "I still can't believe you convinced me to hire her as the new box keeper."

"She believes in the 'Opera Ghost' still," she smirked. "And after her injury, she needed a new profession. I couldn't think of a job better suited for her, considering…" She stopped, the words in her mouth drying instantly.

Erik nodded, also somber. "Yes…Madame Giry was a fine woman." The old widowed box keeper had died months ago, leaving the position of concierge and box keeper open for several weeks before Angelique finally suggested they hire little Jammes – who, coincidentally, was not so little anymore.

"Never mind that, Erik," she shook her head. "This is a happy day. I should start getting my clothes ready-"

"Not yet," he said softly, his hold on her waist tightening just a bit.

"Erik-?" she asked, gasping as he began to kiss her passionately, his long fingers running up her spine to loosen her bun. "E-Erik! The children-!"

"Aren't here," he smirked seductively.

"B-But…I-"

"You what?"

"…Erik…do you still find me…well…"

"Attractive? Beautiful? Irresistible? But of course, you are the Angel of my heart…why do you ask?" He pulled back, taking his turn to raise an eyebrow at her. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Oh, I don't know," she shook her head. "I was looking in the mirror the other day, and…well, I'm not as thin as I used to be, and-"

"_Mon ange_, I am losing my graying hair, I have this hideous face, and you still kiss me without a hint of disgust. Your being a bit plump from having several children only serves to make Erik…hungrier." He nipped her bottom lip, feeling her melt into his arms. "_Mon Dieu_, I love you, Angelique…"

"Erik," she moaned, claiming his mouth as she moved to unbutton his shirt.

Taking her into his arms, he carried her off to their room, entangled in one another for quite some time.

**~OG~**

_Seven Years Later…_

Madame Jammes Cecile brushed the dust off of her shoulder before stepping into the elusive Box Five, her senses already heightened. At thirty-eight years old, her dark hair was already streaking with the first signs of old age. Grown woman though she was, she remained a skittish young girl at heart, and her belief in the Opera Ghost drove her husband and bosses mad at times. She took her job very seriously, unwittingly following the steps of the previous box keeper, Madame Juliette Giry.

Entering the room and shutting the door after her, she placed the meager bouquet of red roses onto the plush seat when she stiffened, sensing another presence. "…_monsieur_?"

"Good evening, Madame Cecile," the silky tenor spoke, alluring her in the most unexpected of ways. "I see you brought the flowers. You will find your compensation underneath the seat."

She knelt down and pulled an envelope out at once, tucking it into her shawl. "_Merci_, Monsieur Opera Ghost," she curtsied. "Will there be anything else?"

"Tell me, what do the managers plan on having for this next season?" he asked coolly, sending shivers down her spine.

"_Faust_," she answered, waiting for another command. She had seen this Phantom, many years ago as a dancer in the _corps de ballet_ as a girl, and having heard his voice again in the past few years reassured her that he was most certainly not gone from the _Palais Garnier_.

He chuckled, a sound that made her want to wince and swoon all at once. "Delightful. Thank you, _Madame_, that is all for tonight."

"As you wish," she curtsied once more before excusing herself and escaping at once.

Box Five was still, silent for several minutes before one of the columns inside the dark area sprang open silently, allowing for a lithe figure to step out. A young boy's laugh was stifled as the "Phantom" stepped out of his hiding place and pressed his fist to his mouth. "It gets better and better every time," he whispered.

"Indeed."

The boy jumped back several feet as another tall, lanky figure emerged from the shadows. Both of them stared at one another, both sets of golden eyes glowing in the dark like an enchanted cat. "Papa," the boy gasped, stiffening as his father approached him. "It…it's not what it looks like."

"I see you've been taking note of the secret pathways and hiding places I showed you," Erik said curtly, readjusting his dark mask. "Your mother would be furious if she knew you were taking up my old persona of _'le Fantome'_."

Erik Chevalier the Second sighed in defeat, bowing his head. "I wasn't trying to cause any harm…that old harpy likes to take my requests, anyways."

"Yes, she does," Erik the Elder grinned, chuckling in spite of himself. He was getting on in his years, well into his seventies by now. He had given up the Opera Ghost business and planned on retiring soon from working at the opera as its manager. Mary Adelshire was well adept at working on her own, and she had even taken his eldest son, Gerard, into the business of management.

How the time flew…Gerard was twenty-three now, working hard at the _Palais Garnier_. Marceline and Rosette, now sixteen, were also both occupied in the theater – Marceline had taken up the position of seamstress with her mother while Rosette was tutored by her father as well as her "aunt", the Vicomtesse de Changy, joining the chorus of the Opera House. Little Madeleine threw a fit one day demanding that she wanted to dance, so it was that she was placed in the _corps de ballet_ at ten years old. And Erik the Younger…

Little Erik, now twelve years old, was fascinated with the stories his father had told him of the "Opera Ghost" that haunted the opera house, eventually putting the pieces together and realizing it was indeed his father that had done the task of terrorizing the citizens within. In the past year, he had brought the Opera Ghost back to life, reinstating a renewed fear and awe of the Phantom. Everyone who knew the Chevalier family thought it was Erik the Elder up to his old tricks now that he was planning on retirement…but it was not so. Sharing more or less the same hideous facial features as his father, young Erik learned to accept himself and used the masks his father made for him. It was certainly liberating and he gave no real second thoughts about it for many years…until recently. He would be found staring at himself in the mirror, his eyes glazed over as he was lost in his thoughts. He had taken a greater liking to his father's old white mask that only revealed his strange eyes, his thin lips, and his pale chin.

"I suppose you'll tell Maman now," Erik the Younger sighed, scuffing his foot against the carpet.

"Perhaps…perhaps not," Erik shrugged. When his son gaped at him, he sighed in response. "You remind me of myself, Erik…in so many ways…while it is good, I don't want you to become exactly like me. There are certain traits that should not be utilized. You have an advantage you can use and appreciate…I did not have the same happiness you had at your age."

"I won't destroy the chandelier, I swear it!" Erik vowed passionately. "I would never kill anyone! I just…I want a way for my face…my true self, to be free. The Phantom of the Opera is a part of our legacy, Papa…a part of you. I don't want it to die."

Erik the Elder felt a strange, ghostly smile stretch over his gruesome lips as he beckoned his youngest son to approach him. Embracing the boy, he kissed the top of his head and whispered, "Neither do I." Seeing his son's face light up, he added quickly, "But it's best if you try to be more discreet. When your mother realizes who it really is – and believe me, she _will_ – she'll either be very impressed or mortified…or both."

"I will be," Erik the Younger nodded. Pouting, he added in a grumble, "Besides, that goody-two-shoes Suri is on to me. She's so nosy and bossy!"

Erik barked out a laugh, knowing that the twenty-two year old woman had inherited those traits from her father, the Persian. "Yes, we'll need to work on your skills." Shaking his head, he gathered the flowers the Jammes had left behind. "And these?"

"Oh, those are for Maman," Erik the boy smirked. "They're your present to her for your anniversary."

"Mon Dieu, that's today?!" Erik the father gasped, his hand flying to his head. "I need to compose something for her!"

"I already have," Erik the Younger shrugged. "If you'd like it, that is." He grinned as his father scowled, only to place his arm around him moments later, leading him towards the hollow pillar.

"Come, my son…show me what else you know before we return home for the night."

**~OG~**

_Five Years Later…_

The hansom cab stopped before the beautiful establishment, allowing the rather pudgy man to step out and gaze at it. He paid the driver absentmindedly, ordering him to wait for a moment as he moved towards the door. Raising his fist, he knocked on the wooden barrier, waiting until the door opened. A middle-aged woman with soft red hair blinked at him, stunned by his arrival. "Can I help you, _monsieur_?"

"I certainly hope so," the man said, fixing his spectacles. "I'm looking for Gerard Chevalier."

"I'm afraid he's working today at the _Palais Garnier_," she shook her head. "He's- Berlioz! Get Franc away from the door!" she said suddenly as a mutt ran to the doorway to see the visitor.

"_Pardon_," the man inside apologized, tugging the excited mongrel away.

"My son was supposed to be watching him," the woman apologized as well.

"Oh, that's perfectly fine," he smiled. "Anyways, you said he would be at the _Opera Garnier_?"

"Yes," she nodded. "You'll find him there…may I ask who sent you?"

"I've seen many people who instructed me to come here," he told her truthfully. "The de Changys, the Baronne de Castelot-Barbezac, the Joubert-Adelshire residents, and one fellow who called himself 'the Persian'. Even members of the Chevalier household directed me here."

"Oh my," she blinked. "You'll have to excuse me, I'm rather surprised that they would all direct you here to speak with the Master…if you don't mind me asking, whatever is this for?"

"I'm a journalist and author, Madame," he tipped his hat once more. "And I have heard of a most intriguing tale that only your employer can help me unravel completely. I need to know the truth about this family and its involvement with a certain specter at the opera…listen to me, rambling! I shall take my leave now."

As he turned away, she called out to him, "Your name, _monsieur_?"

"Leroux…Gaston Leroux."


	34. Epilogue…or Prologue?

**A/N: **It pains me to end the story, and at the same time I'm so relieved, and I do like how it turned out overall. I want to say 'THANK YOU' once more to all my faithful readers and reviewers. Before I close this little note off with a disclaimer, I do have a question for those of you interested...after reading this last chapter, would you consider reading a sequel? As I was writing this last part, my mind was filled with ideas for a continuation that would look mainly at Erik Chevalier the Second (as well as his siblings and friends) and how he manages life after this story ends. If you think it has potential, please (I beg you!) leave me a note/review confirming the idea. If you think this is fine as it is, please say so. Again, one last thank you, and I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

I own nothing, excepts the OCs and madness that filled this fanfiction. Gaston Leroux belongs to himself, and he owns/-ed (?) the rights to his written work, "The Phantom of the Opera".

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Four – Epilogue…or Prologue?**

_May, 1909 – Paris, France_

_The Palais Garnier Opera House_

Once more, he reached into his pocket and gave the driver his pay, hurrying into the building before he could be run over with one of those new blasted contraptions. _"Automobiles…noisy hunks of junk,"_ he thought disdainfully. Tugging the grand door open, his ears were instantly assaulted with the harmonious sounds of a complex orchestra and the charming chant of chorus girls.

"May I help you, _monsieur_?"

He jumped at the sound of the new voice, spinning around to find a woman in her forties raising an eyebrow at him. She was dressed in dark blues and blacks, wearing a rather large flower in her bonnet. Her dark eyes watched him with unbridled curiosity, irking him for some unexplainable reason.

"I'm looking for the owner and manager, Comte Gerard Chevalier," he stated, straightening himself.

"And the purpose?" she prodded on boldly.

"I'm a journalist, _Madame_," he sniffed. "Please, would you point me in the direction of his office? I was sent by several family members and acquaintances to see him."  
"I see," she answered stiffly. She looked him up and down openly, earning a dirty look from him, before she motioned with a careless wave of her hand for him to follow her. Begrudgingly, he did so, his sole purpose for doing so being that he find this Chevalier fellow. Walking down the massive, impressive halls of the theater, he found himself in awe of the magnificent structure. He hadn't been here in many years, and yet its splendor managed to astonish him, and he had seen a great many marvels on his journeys to cover intriguing tales. He was so engrossed that he nearly collided with the woman as she suddenly stopped and knocked twice on the manager's office door.

A man answered it at once, bowing his head politely to the woman. He was a rather handsome gentleman, his angular and prominent face clean-shaven, his stormy blue eyes stunning. "Yes, Madame Cecile?" he asked politely.

"This journalist wishes to speak directly to you, _monsieur_," she said politely, jerking her head at the man behind her.

The man glanced at his visitor, perplexed. He graciously beckoned for him to enter, however, excusing the woman from her chore. "Thank you, Madame, I can take it from here." She bobbed her head at him before walking away, muttering to herself about how nosy reporters should keep to themselves.

"I apologize if she caused you any grief. She's a rather forward woman for her time," he said, motioning for his guest to take a seat.

"It's quite all right," he answered back, though it really wasn't. "Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Gaston Leroux, I'm a journalist, you see-"

"Ah, yes, I've read your work in _Le Matin_," his host said, shaking hands with him before they sat down. "I am Comte Gerard Chevalier, co-owner and manager of this establishment."

"I do hope I'm not interrupting anything-"

"Of course not, sir. Now then, how can I be of service to you?"

Leroux cleared his throat, feeling his stomach flip and flop in anxiety. "I have been asked to investigate and complete an in-depth coverage of the Opera House. I understand it was used as a prison and magazine during the Paris Commune."

"Indeed," Gerard nodded. "I can arrange a tour of the cellars if that is what you wish."

"I would greatly appreciate that," Leroux said, holding his breath for a moment.

Gerard raised an eyebrow at this. "…is there something else?"

"…well, yes there is." Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew a little notebook and opened it to a marked page, handing it over to the manager. "Would you read this and confirm or deny if it is true?"

Gerard took the book, scanning it at his leisure when his eyes widened as he saw the names scribbled down, the details the narration gave. "…they…they all told you of this?"

"_Oui_," Leroux nodded. "I had intended to speak to employees and their family members, to anyone really who had been here at the _Garnier_, especially those during that infamous chandelier crash in 1881, but…the deeper I searched, the more I found out about your family's involvement, and how the…'Phantom' was involved in your family."

"I see…" Gerard handed him the notebook back, his eyes steely cold. "I'm sorry, _monsieur_, but I will not let my family's honor, and especially not my father's, be impugned by your reports."

"Heavens, no! That's not the purpose at all!" Leroux held his hands up in the sign of surrender. "My goal is to learn all I can to historically report about the opera house, but I am fascinated with your family's story…I should like to create a series in which a mystery is involved, and this story would be a brilliant basis. I could change names and events if you wish, but I beg of you, please tell me what happened to the man known as 'the Phantom of the Opera'."

Gerard stared hard at him, fighting to decipher the man's true intentions. Leroux waited, his heart thumping in anticipation. At long last, Chevalier released a long, tired sigh, running his fingers through his chestnut locks. "I shall trust your word, _monsieur_, seeing as how you've manage to extract this much from my family and friends." Leroux said nothing for the time being, not wanting to jinx himself. Lacing his fingers together, Gerard stared past him, mindlessly observing the wallpaper pattern. "…just what is it you want from me?"

"How…" Leroux licked his dry lips, clearing his throat and trying again. "…how did your parents…pass on?"

Gerard sighed, leaning back in his chair, his eyes moist as he remembered. "…it was two years ago…winter time, late January. Maman had caught pneumonia from visiting the hospital and leaving gifts for sick children. She got worse as the days turned to weeks. My father wouldn't leave her side…you must understand, he was…_much_ older than she was…At any rate, they both became deeply ill, and then one day, when our maid went in to check on them…they were gone."

Leroux listened silently, watching tears fall down the man's face. He himself was getting choked up as he heard the story. "They were…very much in love, I understand."

"Yes." Gerard pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply before facing the journalist once more. "They were in each other's arms, their faces calm…they had died together, and I suppose that was all that mattered to them. My siblings and I…it was difficult that first year, but we knew they were happy…that they _are_ happy…" His eyes moved to the ceiling, his mind envisioning their faces looking down at him from the clouds and sunlight above. Quickly, he cleared his throat and rubbed one of his eyes casually, facing Leroux as he straightened his posture.

"Your father," Leroux started, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes clean. "He was the…well, you know…wasn't he?"

Gerard chuckled, shaking his head. "I think we both know the answer to that," he smiled knowingly.

"And your mother…the Comtesse Archambault…she was a seamstress, wasn't she?"

"Oh yes. And a damn good one – the best."

Leroux smiled at this. "She loved your father, despite everything."

"Yes." He placed his cheek against his fist, memories flooding back to him. "My father was not an easy man to please, especially not when they first met. Still…they had five children, so I suppose _something_ must have gone right."

"I believe I encountered some of your siblings," the reporter interrupted. "But I'd rather hear from you how everything happened."

So it was for the next hour that Gerard explained the story behind the fable of the Opera Ghost, and how a seamstress made her way to the world behind the trapdoors and into his heart. He told him of how friendships were eventually forged, and how they became linked into a large family, now spread all over Paris.

"And you all intermarried with your dear childhood sweethearts!" Leroux laughed. "That's something of a fairy tale!"

"In a way," Gerard said, a faint grin appearing on his lips. "I married Suri, daughter to Rebecca Anderson and the man known to many in those days as 'the Persian'. Two of my sisters married into the de Chagny family – Marceline was wed to Mathis, the Comte's son, and Rosette married the Vicomte's son, Cyrille. Aunt Meg's daughter, Dominique, is married to a British gentleman, goes by the name of Lord Peter Bentley. They live in London now…my youngest sister, Madeleine, is fifteen, and a member of the _corps de ballet_ here. Many of the others are here – Raoul's daughter Christia is part of the chorus and well on her way to becoming prima donna; Adrien Joubert's children, Lamar and Marie, are here also, working in the chorus and ballet, respectively. Jonathan, Joubert's eldest, has gone off to be a missionary in India."

"And your brother? Erik the Second, I presume," Leroux asked, seeing a cloud of uncertainty fall over the man.

"…he…took their passing with the most difficulty," he said, shifting in his chair. "He up and vanished the day after the funeral, wouldn't say where he had gone to when he came home…he doesn't much care for social outings or being seen in public nowadays."

"I see…I say, if you are the co-owner of the opera, who is the other? Isn't Madame Joubert-Adelshire-?"

"Aunt Mary has retired recently," Gerard said, rising from his chair. "I am the only manager at this point…my little brother is the co-owner – my father stated it explicitly in his will." Walking towards the door, he motioned for the journalist to follow. "Come. I believe I promised you a tour."

**~OG~**

Long after Leroux had gone, Gerard Chevalier sat down at his desk again and sighed, placing his head upon his arms and shutting his eyes. _"If that infernal journalist does anything to ruin my family, I shall send Erik after him-! No…no, I wouldn't do that…I wouldn't wish Erik's wrath on _anyone_."_ He was beginning to wonder if he should ask Suri to keep a closer eye on his little brother when a frantic knock caught his attention. "Come in," he answered, raising an eyebrow as chorus master Robert Herriot burst into the room. "_Monsieur_-?"

"This is an outrage!" the man fumed, shaking a fistful of papers at the manager. "The Opera Ghost has gone too far!"

"What do you mean?" he asked, rising from his seat as his brows furrowed.

"Look at this note!" he demanded, practically shoving the paper into his face.

Gerard frowned, wondering what mischief "_le Fantome_" was up to now. Opening the crumpled piece of paper, he grimaced at the harsh, red scribbles that were emblazoned on the parchment.

"_Monsieur Herriot,_

_I made it perfectly clear in my prior note to the management that the show for this season will be_ Cendrillon, _not_ La Profeta. _I have taken the liberty of replacing the music with the correct sheets you will be needing. Also, it should be noted that Christia de Chagny is best suited for this role, not that clucking hen that is known as La Beatriz Abaraca. Take heed of my warnings – your ignorance and impertinence will only serve to bite you in the posterior at a later date._

_Your obedient servant,_

_O.G."_

"Can you believe this?!" sputtered the chorus master. "The impudence-!"

"I thought _I_ had made it quite clear that the show was to be _Cendrillon_," Gerard cut in, glaring at the man. "I made that announcement yesterday to the company…you were also there. Tell me, were you too occupied in gazing at the La Beatriz in your hung-over state that morning, or are you really trying to force your will against others and test my patience?" The man stared at him, turning quite pale as his superior became frustrated. "It really is no wonder that you and the Opera Ghost are constantly butting heads. One more outburst from you, or complaint from the Ghost, and I shall sack you, _monsieur_. Do you understand?"

"Y-Yes, sir," he stammered, walking away quickly before his boss could change his mind.

Shaking his head, the manager bit back a growl before stalking out towards the stage, certain he would find who he was looking for. Passing through the lavish hallways, Gerard took several steps and turns before arriving at the grand stage, his hawk-like eyes singling out one particular dancer in the troop. "Madeleine! A word!"

The little red-head dancer shrugged to her friend before scurrying towards her brother. "_Bonjour_, big brother," she said amiably, though her eyes glistened with curiosity. "What ails you?" She received the letter from him as well as a raised eyebrow, and as she read through the note, she fought back a grimace. "Oh dear…"

"Talk to him for me, won't you?" he sighed. "He's becoming more and more distant when it comes to seeing me. He enjoys your company at any rate."

"Of course, you leave him to me," she winked, kissing his cheek as she stood on her tip-toes. Scurrying off, she could hear her elder brother call out to the dance instructor, Madame le Plume, excusing his sister for the time being from rehearsals. _"Not that it matters – she treats me just as equally as any of the other girls,"_ she grinned. She knew of nearly all the same hiding places and passages in the opera house, enough to know how to avoid the booby traps her father had created and her second brother had improved upon. Tugging upon a torch that lined one of the walls towards the rear of the structure, she slipped inside the secret opening and lit a match, snatching a candle out of its hidden nook that _he_ had placed there for her. Moving along with her only source of light, she skipped through the dripping tunnel, leaping over any obstacles she found, mostly rats and puddles. When at last she came near the main road that led to the underground lake, she whistled a merry tune, signaling her presence, should he be nearby. Coming to the entrance, she stepped out, her eyes falling upon a lone figure standing by a distant wall, the mist rolling off the lake encircling him like some mythical being from an enchanted legend.

"Erik," she called out gently, approaching him timidly. "Erik…Gerard sent me."

The tall, thin shadow sighed, pulling two single roses from his cloak before slipping them into two neighboring slots before him. "I assume it has to do with that oaf, Herriot."

She held her tongue for the time being, approaching him fearlessly as she caught sight of the two slabs in the wall where the roses had been places. The first was emblazoned with an elegant "E", the other had a delicate "A" etched onto it. "Maman would scold you, you know…and then kiss you for being so deviously clever. Papa would be…he _is_ proud of you, Erik."

"I know." He kissed his fingertips and tapped his mother's grave, repeating the same gesture for his father. Madeleine's lithe body was suddenly pressed against his and he accepted the embrace in silent contemplation. "…what does Gerry want?"

She giggled in spite of herself – she knew her elder brother _hated_ the nickname Erik had given him. "He just wants to see if you're all right."

"You mean, he wants to ensure I won't do anything drastic, like Papa." He snorted in a most undignified manner, adjusting his white mask. "Don't worry, I won't go Punjabbing the dolt."

"He doesn't understand why you've decided to become a recluse and live down here when you can live aboveground at home. You have the mask Papa made that's practically a second skin-"

"I don't want to be confined to my sticky face mask, I want to be accepted for myself!" he roared, though she didn't bat an eyelid at him.

"You mean you want Christia de Chagny to accept you for your face," she sniffed. "I love her, I really do, but Erik, she clearly doesn't care for anything other than her hair or voice."

"It-It's not like that!" he stammered, struggling to make his stutters turn into a menacing, snapping retort. "I'm tired of having to hide my face! And besides, Christia is faint of heart, you know that. She'd…she'd never accept me like…_this_." He snatched the mask off, exposing his face to his little sister. His catlike eyes glazed over, melancholy as he remembered his parents. "Papa was lucky…he found Maman and they loved each other despite all the odds…she brought him to life…"

Madeleine kissed his face without fear, already quite accustomed to his grotesque form. "You, too, will find someone…your face isn't quite as horrific as Papa's."

"But it's still horrific," he sighed mournfully, gripping his mother's locket which now hung around his neck. "No, _mon petite_. It would be a miracle from God – or Papa and Maman's intervention – if I found someone to accept this face…"

**~OG~**

Leroux exited his editor's office, excitement and sorrow fighting to take hold of his heart. It had been four months since he turned in his report on the _Palais Garnier_; since then, he had begun work on a series of mysterious stories revolving around the information that the Chevaliers and their friends had given him. He had sworn to Gerard that he would not reveal the whole story, nor what truly happened with the "Ghost", though he adamantly insisted as he wrote each installation that the story was true in all aspects. It was a shame to see the story altered to such degrees that poor Erik – as he would say to himself as he wrote the next parts – had to die alone from a broken heart.

He knew the truth though…he had written himself a detailed manuscript and locked it away where no one would be able to lay their hands on it. It would not be for another hundred years, perhaps, until it would be safe and acceptable to reveal what had really happened.

"Perhaps," he murmured, looking towards the beautiful blue sky of his home. "Perhaps in the future, someone will find my accounts and reveal to the world what really happened behind the trapdoors."

_**THE END…?**_


	35. Author's Note - Sequel

**A/N: Hi all! Just wanted to say thank you for your support and input - I've completed the first chapter of the sequel, named "Of Phantoms and Men". Please check it out if you're interested and let me know what you thought of it! Happy reading, and thanks once more! :)**


End file.
